


Dribs & Drabbles 2

by MarigoldVance



Series: Dribs & Drabbles [2]
Category: Being Human (UK), Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996), The Almighty Johnsons, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (ADDITIONAL TAGS IN CHAPTER SUMMARIES), (drabbles), (oneshots), (prompt fills), (tumblr posts), Durincest, Fairy AU, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mafia AU, Mild Sexual Content, Modern AU, Ocean's Eleven AU, Shapeshifters AU (Dragons), Shapeshifters AU (Fox/Otter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 30,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: my contributions to GatheringFiKi challenges as well as prompt fills and sample-size ficlets that need a home. [PART TWO]please heed the tags[pairings/ratings/additional tags are listed in each chapter summary]
Relationships: Anders Johnson/John Mitchell, Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Jim Hawkins/Ross Poldark
Series: Dribs & Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000407
Comments: 59
Kudos: 35





	1. The ships left early in the spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen

≡

The ships left early in the spring and, with them, Fíli’s heart, pulling it out to sea and way to Harad where it would stay until the end of summer. Fíli detested the summer months. While shorter, they felt like too many lifetimes lived and died, compounded one on top of the other; lonely and bored and filled with breezes that felt like melancholy sighs against his skin.

The heat twisted like a garrote around Fíli’s throat, lumped in his throat and pressed into his skin like a giant hand trying to squeeze his soul from his body. The lake didn’t hold much appeal when he was alone, but he’d make the effort to go, if only for something to write about for his heart to read later, when they were reunited and sharing stories.

There were always stories from the East Sea; always tales of monsters and Elven ships and treasures lost below the waves, sunk to the bottom and negotiated for with mermaids who sung a lot of men away. When asked, Fíli’s heart would reassure Fíli that, _I leave everything I am here, Fee. The only thing I take with me is my flesh. A mermaid cannot lure a man’s heart if it isn’t with him._

Fíli wondered, not for the first time, if he’d be beckoned to the sea if a mermaid tried to trick his heart, cradled in the chest of the man he loved. He didn’t think so, but one never knew.

-

It was the end of summer; the days weren’t as long nor stifling. Fíli saw the white sails in the distance.

“Kíli,” He said into the wind.

It returned with a message of laughter and love, cool and salty and perfect.

His heart was home again.

≡


	2. "Eyes on me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, T [part of the [Mafia-verse](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/622261572942823424/stone-giants-2015-or-beorns-t-fiki-tw)]
> 
> this is dedicated to [fikidurin](https://fikidurin.tumblr.com/): thank you for your support, babe!!

≡

“Hey.” Fíli said, holding Kíli’s face in his palms and forcing the kid to look at him. “Eyes on me, okay?”

Kíli gasped, wet and weak, and jerked his chin down in a sign of acquiescence. Fíli heaved a breath, squared his shoulders and nodded back, hoping to convey some kind of sense of confidence. Like they were going to get out of this alive.

Maybe they were. Fíli sure as shit hoped so because he’d worked his ass off to get as far as he had and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

Christ. He could’ve been out of here by now but Kíli—

He wouldn’t leave Kíli.

Kíli swallowed, his throat rippling under Fíli’s thumbs where he still held the kid’s face.

“Are you ready?”

“No.” Kíli said, his voice rough and bloody. “I can’t—”

Fíli moved a hand to grab the back of Kíli’s hair, yanking Kíli’s head up and forward so their brows rested together. “You can.” Fíli corrected, determined and hard, “I’m going to get you out of here, kid, I promise.”

Kíli bit back a noise, something between a whine and a groan, and jerked his head again. His thigh must be fucking killing him, his pant leg heavy and red, but he was still in one piece and Fíli was going to keep it that way if it cost Fíli his life.

Fíli took another deep breath, encouraged Kíli to mimic him. They held it for as long as Fíli could and then breathed out simultaneously.

“Alright?” Fíli asked.

“Yeah.” Kíli sounded a little more sure of himself.

With a pat to Kíli’s cheek, Fíli released him and took a step back, slipping a hand over the gun in his belt.

“On the count of three, run.”

≡


	3. Wordlessly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen

≡

It was something only the lads could do. Something between them that no one else could learn or interpret, no matter how long anyone observed, how hard anyone practiced or attempted to insinuate themselves into the fold.

That’s not how it worked.

It – their language, their _bond_ – was deeper than simple familiarity. More than understanding and years upon years of knowledge. Growing and experiencing and exploring each other’s lives as their own, as if they lived entirely within each other, like the same person split in two if only to cover more ground and see more world, try more things.

Some weren’t unsure it was witchcraft. It had to be magic, the way they spoke without voices. Eyes telling stories and fingers plotting strategies and imperceptible movements the equivalent of whole conversations.

They shared secrets this way. Shared everything, really. With hands that said, _I love you_ and lips that said, _I’m sorry_. Grins that bellowed excitement to the sun when they reunited after a day spent away from each other and furrowed brows that wept when they had to part again the next morning.

Bofur watched Kíli glance across the camp, quirk an eyebrow and the corner of his lips and nothing else. Fíli must had responded because, when next he looked, the two were gone. A few minutes later, muffled noises punched through the crackling of the fire and the simmering din of chatter between the company.

Bofur sighed.

It was something only Fíli and Kíli could do, something between them that no one else could learn or interpret. But apparently their silent language didn’t transcend all things and, for that, Bofur fished out the earplugs from his pocket before settling into his bedroll for sleep. 

≡


	4. "Hand me that, you clearly can't be trusted with something so precious."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> "eggsitting", shenanigans, humor

≡

Fíli ground his teeth, eyes squinted with worry and sympathy and, “Hand me that,” He wheezed, unable to watch silently anymore, “You clearly can’t be trusted with something so precious.”

“Oi!” Kíli barked, glowering from across the room where he stood, cradling the dragon egg like a babe. “I’m just as careful – if not _more so_ – than you, Fee. In fact, I’d say I’m a far better candidate to watch this than you are.”

“I highly doubt that, Kee.” Fíli huffed out a fond chuckled that Kíli interpreted as _condescending_. Fíli threw his hands up, “If you say so.” He’d have to try another tactic – and _soon_ , he cringed, fingers clenching and unclenching as he watched Kíli stumble over a tunic he’d tossed on the floor and forgotten about two nights ago.

“How about you give me a turn, eh?” Fíli coaxed and reached toward Kíli who curled around the egg and twisted his upper half away from Fíli. “You’ve held it long enough and Amad will be home soon! I want a turn, Kee!” Fíli stood from the foot of his bed where he’d been watching Kíli and stormed up to him, pressing his nose to Kíli’s in challenge. “Be fair!”

“Fair!? You hogged it all night!”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

Fíli bent and slid around Kíli, grabbing the egg out of Kíli’s arms before Kíli was aware of what happened and holding it to his chest protectively.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“No! You’ll only drop it and then what? I’m trying to save Amad’s temper from your clumsiness, you should be thanking me!”

Kíli’s glare darkened and he launched himself forward, toppling Fíli sideways and forcing Fíli to hold the egg above his head so he wouldn’t accidentally land on it. They scuffled, wrestling over and under each other awkwardly, Kíli’s fingers brushing the egg as he tried to reclaim it. Finally, sat astride his brother’s hips, Kíli gripped the egg above Fíli’s hands and _pulled_ while, at the same time, Fíli released the egg in order to band his arms around Kíli’s middle and _push_.

Their combined strength jostled Kíli from his chest down to his fingers, elbows bouncing off Fíli’s shoulders and dislodging the egg from his hands. It sailed through the air, both following the arc of its path in panic but neither fast enough to take action.

The egg landed with a cottony _thud_ on the edge of Fíli’s bed. Together, Fíli and Kíli heaved a sigh of relief. And then the egg wobbled.

“Oh—” Fíli started but Kíli slapped a hand over his mouth, biting down a squeak of his own.

The egg wobbled the other way. To and fro, tilting dangerously over before slanting back. It seemed to settle and Kíli dropped his hand, sweeping a hand through his hair as he relaxed slightly. And then the egg toppled forward and crashed to the floor, the fragile shell bursting into large, jagged pieces—

“Amad’s going to kill us!”

“We’re _murderers_ Fee! We killed a baby dragon!”

“I _told you_ —”

“Boys?” Their mother’s voice cut through their squabbling, Kíli still on top of his brother on his bed. They both ceased their movements immediately, stunned still and afraid to die. If they didn’t move … perhaps she wouldn’t see them?

No such luck. Kíli watched as their mother’s eyes trailed from them to the mess on the floor. He held his breath, waiting for her to pull her axe from thin air and lob their heads off, one after the other, for interfering with her work. Surely, because of them, she’d never be allowed to care for another exotic creature and she’d end up poor and homeless and it’d be all their fault so, really, Kíli accepted his fate, closing his eyes and baring his throat.

“Huh.” Was all she said, “Clean that up.” And then she swept out of the room in a rustle of fabric.

“Wait what?” Fíli was as confused as Kíli, the two looking at one another with fear edging their eyes, unwilling to let their guard down.

“She’ll get us when we’re sleeping, I’m sure.”

It wasn’t until later, when they’d swept up the fragments of the dragon’s egg, somehow still completely unaware of what was amiss, that they crept into the kitchen with their heads down to apologize to their mother. Except, there, in the center of the table, was a basket. In the basket’s belly, folded and snug in knitted blankets, was the _dragon’s egg_ ; its sheen brighter and more radiant than Kíli remembered it.

Their mother raised an eyebrow when she turned from her cooking to take in their faces.

“You didn’t really think I was that stupid, did you?” She smirked. “Now, tidy up for supper. You both look like you’ve rolled through the barns.”

And that was that.

≡


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Not Related (strangers)

≡

He’d seen him before, on the few occasions he’d been late for work, bleary eyed and still tired from his shift the day before. Once, the man had been so kind as to offer Kíli his seat when it was obvious Kíli’s legs were crippling under his own weight, too many hours spent on his feet, practically jogging between his section and the kitchen during a rush that never ended. Fridays were brutal.

The man made Kíli’s worst mornings bearable. He was yellow-bright summer and blue smolder with muscles on muscles that made Kíli salivate. _Those thighs_ were made for more than accentuating the fit of his dark-wash jeans and, damn, those shoulders could carry Kíli anywhere they wanted to go, please and thank you.

Sometimes, the man nodded at him, smiling and staring at Kíli with a heat he wasn’t sure he was projecting or was real. If it was for him or the pretty brunette who caught the subway two stops after Kíli. Kíli sure as hell hoped his interest wasn’t unrequited; not that it would do much. Kíli wasn’t a _coward_ but he also wasn’t known for soliciting strangers, no matter how much their mouths promised sex in the corners.

Kíli didn’t want to say it out loud but he was sure the man had conveyed the dirtiest erotica to Kíli with his eyebrows alone.

 _Mmmph_.

Now, however, wasn’t one of those times when Kíli was _excited_ to see the man. Trapped and suffocating as he was, sweating bullets down his back and temples and likely looking like a drowned rat under his own perspiration.

The bloody subway had stalled in the tunnel and Kíli? Well, wasn’t Kíli just claustrophobic …

 _Fuck_.

Kíli tried sucking in long, deep breaths, concentrating on the expansion and retraction of his diaphragm to distract him from his surroundings. It was Thursday morning, later than Kíli had aimed for, and it was _packed_. Crowded from door to door with people on their way to work or class.

He kept his eyes on his boots, breathing, breathing, Jesus would the train just. _move_!? His vision was blurring, and his chest was tightening and his hands were shaking like autumn leaves and wasn’t that wonderful? The epitome of sex appeal there, Kíli, he mocked himself.

Movement caught his attention in the corner of his eye before a hand appeared in his line of sight. The hand curled around one of his own and squeezed, reassuring and somehow comforting even though Kíli knew it belonged to a stranger. Except … he knew that hand, didn’t he?

Flitting his gaze up, Kíli was met with the face of the man, softer and kinder than he’d even seen it. The man’s eyes were warm when he took Kíli’s hand and brought it to press against his chest, right over his heart that beat hard and even behind his sternum.

“There you go, easy now.” The man said as if speaking to a skittish horse.

Kíli wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or offended. So he blurted the only thing he could think of: “Kíli.”

“Hm?”

“My name.” Kíli clarified, voice tight. He pushed out another breath and finally felt himself loosening. “It’s Kíli.”

“Ah.” The man said.

Kíli chuckled and nodded and slowly relaxed until he was leaning against the closed door behind him.

“I was hoping to introduce myself without,” Kíli flapped a hand, “Being so dramatic.”

“It’s a good thing I like a little drama then,” The man said with a wink.

Kíli flushed from his neck to his ears but couldn’t bring himself to care. He smiled right back and cleared his throat and just when he was about to return with something witty, the train jerked to life.

When they pulled into the next station – the man’s station, Kíli knew – Kíli felt the man press something into his palm. Kíli watched the man shove his way through the wall of passengers and onto the platform, swept away with the crowd without looking back.

Kíli bit his lip, probably looking dopey and lovestruck as he fiddled with the business card in his hand: _Fíli Durin_ , it announced, a—oh holy hell. A senior manager at Kíli’s uncle’s company.

Well. Drama indeed.

≡


	6. "And why exactly would you want that?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DarkHawk, Gen [[Vagrant 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442182)]

≡

Jim burrowed into Ross’ chest, tucked snugly under Ross’ thick arm with his nose pressed into the hair of Ross’ pit. He smelled musk-sharp, well-exerted and salt-damp, a combination that made Jim delirious now that he could have it, _experience_ it for his own, as something _he’d_ done.

He made Ross like this. Weak limbed and wobbly, breath still long and hard as he held Jim tight against his side.

“And why exactly would you want that?” Ross asked after a beat, continuing the conversation Jim had started as soon as he’d slumped sideways off Ross’ cock.

“What? Something of my own, you mean?”

Ross huffed through his nose and Jim could _feel_ him roll his eyes as the ceiling. “No.” Ross said, “Why _that_ specifically?”

Jim shrugged a shoulder, licked a stripe from Ross’ armpit to his nipple where he placed a nibbly kiss before answering, “Because.” As if that explained everything.

Ross hummed, thumb swiping nonsense strokes over Jim’s hip as he considered what Jim was saying. Jim could hear his thoughts, loud and aggressive and bursting out Ross’ ears like a marching band.

“You think it’s a bad idea?”

“No.” Ross said again. He pressed a kiss into Jim’s curls, lingered, and then elaborated, “I think it’s a good idea. You’ll have something to keep you busy, at least.”

“And my own money.” Jim added.

“And that.” Ross rolled onto his side, his gaze as heavy as his body as he sprawled over Jim. “You know I’d give you everything if you asked.”

“I know.” And, yes, Jim did, profoundly, to his very core, “Which is exactly why I want to do it.”

Ross studied him for a moment, nodding when he saw the determination in the hard set of Jim’s eyes and the fierce line of his lips. Ross dipped his head, wasted no time plunging into a kiss as wild as the sex had been. Jim took this as support, encouragement.

He’d apply tomorrow. Would likely be hired by the evening if Jim could guess. Ross wasn’t beyond flaunting his influence to get what he wanted and what he wanted was Jim’s happiness.

“Thank you.” Jim sighed, content, when Ross relinquished his mouth.

With a final chaste peck, Ross curled around Jim and stroked his arm until Jim drifted to sleep.

≡


	7. "It's just a game."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> AU - Modern Setting, Durincest, Party Games (spin the bottle),

≡

Kíli swallowed thickly, dizzying himself as he tried to track the bottle as it spun in the center of the circle of their gathered friends. The party had been Fíli’s idea, so unlike him – he was reserved, introverted, _tame_ ; not reckless and carefree the way Kíli was. Kíli, who had objected the second Fíli suggested it, if only because it was their first weekend alone together since … _since_.

But Fíli had convinced him with gentle nudges and pancakes for supper and now it was Saturday night in the middle of November, their mother away until Wednesday at some environmental conference in Durban. She trusted them, Kíli had argued. Fíli had laughed, full-bellied and rich, wondering why Kíli suddenly cared so much.

 _Because I finally realized_ , Kíli didn’t say, just sat there pouting around a mouthful of breakfast food. He’d already given in, anyway, there was no point in dragging his heels about it.

So, there they were, in the living room, all the furniture pushed against the walls to make space for a dance floor that had turned into the stage for a stupid game of _Spin the Bottle_.

Kíli’s pulse rushed in his ears, his heart lodged somewhere between his chest and his brain and making it difficult to suck any air into his lungs. The bottle slowed – all the Jameson in their friends’ blood making them all pink and syrupy.

No one else seemed to care when the nose of the bottle stopped, pointing at Fíli as if Fíli was anyone else. No one decided to let Kíli have another spin because, _for fuck’s sake, it’s his **bRoThEr**_!

To the contrary; Tauriel shrieked gleefully and shoved Kíli to his feet, her boots kicking his arse until he stood just to avoid bruising. Fíli stood by himself, grin sloping across his face and eyes alcohol-heavy. Kíli couldn’t recall Fíli drinking anything aside from the one beer Kíli’d seen him pour himself but, he supposed, they hadn’t been together for most of the night.

Part of Kíli reveled in this side of Fíli; a side he’d _never ever_ seen before. Loose and relaxed, his shoulders slouched and his hair mussy like he’d been running his hands through it.

The rest of Kíli was shitting himself because now they were standing in the middle of the circle, their friends laughing and hooting, clapping a beat and chanting for them to _kiss kiss kiss—_

“It’s just a game.” Fíli whispered, his breath tickling Kíli’s lips. His hands came up, cradling Kíli’s face like he was the most precious thing in the world.

_Maybe. To you._

Kíli felt Fíli’s lips tease his, brushing over his quickly before descending to press firmly over Kíli’s mouth. They were soft, plush, dry, and Kíli didn’t know what to do with that information other than memorize everything to summon later when he was alone.

A fleck of Fíli’s tongue and a gasp and it was over. All the heat was pulled from Kíli when Fíli stepped back, looking hazier than he had before. The circle had gone quiet, still, and Kíli was starting to tremble.

Thankfully, Tauriel broke the moment with a fit of giggles and applause, drawing the attention to her as she elbowed her way between them to grab the bottle at their feet.

“I think I’m going to grab some water.” Fíli said, meant for everyone to hear but directed at Kíli.

Kíli nodded dumbly and followed his brother, announcing, “You’re right, this is a stupid game.”

But it wasn’t, was it? 

≡


	8. Faeries made them do it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, M
> 
> Mild Sexual Content, Magic/Fairies Made Them Do It

≡

Kíli gasped, head thrown back to expose the column of his throat; spit-slick lips parted on every moan and hard breath. His hips rolled, chasing the friction that was just this side of _not enough_ , their layers making him ache. His skin was too tight, and his blood was too hot and there were embers at his core where his gut clenched on every thrust down.

Beneath him, between his thighs, his brother’s face swam in and out of his vision. From what Kíli could tell, Fíli fared no better, equally as under the influence of the spellcast-delirium.

Groans and wet breaths filled the air as the rutted against each other, hands slip-sliding everywhere they could touch. Fíli had somehow managed to remove Kíli’s tunic and toss it somewhere in the direction of the cave mouth. Kíli hadn’t been so kind, tearing Fíli’s in half to expose his furry chest.

Blunt nails scratched over the peaks and valleys of Fíli’s torso, following the hair to the waistband of his trousers, the lacing already undone – had he done that?

It was frantic and sweat-wet and _so warm, he was too warm_. Kíli felt slick and open where he shouldn’t, had no idea why or how but didn’t care. Lifted and dropped his hips while Fíli scrabbled to get him naked from the waist down.

The moment it happened, they both stilled, embraced in the echo of their exultant cries. Kíli was split apart and so full and – _Mahal, yes Fee!_

“Fuck, Kee!” Fíli’s voice was grit and ash, his hands guiding Kíli up and down by the hips. He was panting hard, bucking up to meet Kíli and wailing words of encouragement throughout his tirade about Faeries and how truly twisted and awful they were. Not that Kíli cared because he was too busy mewling, _right there please please please!_

It didn’t take long after that; Fíli charged over the edge first, dragging Kíli with him by the cock. Immediately, Kíli slumped forward, hid his face in the crook of Fíli’s sweaty neck as he tried to remember how to breathe normally.

“I heard, once,” Kíli said after they’d cooled, sticky and crusty though not entirely uncomfortable, “That Faeries made a whole village of men dance to death … ”

Fíli didn’t say anything, simply nudged his nose into Kíli’s hair in acknowledgement and waited for the inevitable question.

“You don’t think they’ll make us fuck each other into the grave…?”

Taking stock of himself, Fíli realized the clawing heat that drove them before had receded considerably. Kíli’s skin was regular-warm to the touch and Fíli could see beyond the red haze of lust.

“I don’t think so, Kee.” Fíli reassured. “But damn, what a way to go.”

≡


	9. Having sex on Uncle's throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, M
> 
> Throne Sex

≡

They shouldn’t be here, doing this, doing anything at all. They should be tucked in their beds, in their rooms, in their private wing of the palace where their mother and uncle and cousins are all asleep after another long day of gladhanding and negotiating trade agreements.

Mahal, the Broadbeams were still nagging about compensation for the many years they’d hosted Erebor’s refugees and—

A gasp-moan cracked through the hall like lightening, drawing Fíli’s attention back to what they shouldn’t be doing but _were_ doing anyway. Kíli writhed in his lap, nibbled that pocket of nerves right below his ear that drove him wild with heat and want. Hands roamed the expanse of his chest and – _down down_ – to the waistband of Fíli’s trousers, unlaced and open to reveal a nest of coarse gold curls below his navel. Fíli’s tunic was bunched up under his arms, held there as Fíli tightened his hold on Kíli’s waist.

Kíli ground against him, his own trousers since discarded in the trail of cloaks and boots that led from the entrance, down the walkway and up the steps to the throne _where they shouldn’t be_. His cock stood, proud and weeping, from his open fly, smearing precome across Fíli’s belly with every thrust.

“ _Fíli_ ,” Kíli whined, fingers clawing Fíli’s scalp as Fíli pressed Kíli closer with a hand at the dip of Kíli’s spine. He closed his lips around a dusky nipple, teeth and tongue, and sucked, causing Kíli to throw his head back and release another beautiful sound into the empty air, echoing their love through the hall.

Fíli’s breath was harsh and heavy, his eyes hyperfocused on the image of his brother curling and rolling in his lap as if it was too much and not enough all at once.

They shouldn’t be doing this but Fíli would never be strong enough to say no.

≡


	10. Once upon a time ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> Alternate Universe - Futuristic, A.I, Sci-Fi, Not Related

≡

_Once upon a time_ …

… There lived a lonely boy in a big house. The boy’s name was Kíli and the house belonged to his uncle who was very rarely home. He was important, you see; he wore suits and made decisions and managed a lot of people. However, his work, which was as important as the man himself, left him very little time with his nephew.

Kíli went to school like most boys his age. He did well, his teachers praised him for his cleverness and exuberance, he smiled and told jokes and loved to explain all kinds of interesting things to his classmates. But … his classmates weren’t ever as excited by the things Kíli was excited by. They found him too noisy or too bossy or too eccentric. He was _a lot_. Which was fine by Kíli, he forged ahead and learned as much as he could about as many things as he could.

One day, Kíli thought, he would find someone who wanted to explore the world the way he did, someone who would appreciate Kíli’s encyclopedia of knowledge and wouldn’t dismiss him for knowing too much. 

He was eight when a boy at school threw milk at him in the middle of his presentation about the solar system. He’d gone over his minutes talking about Jupiter, hands flapping and words spilling one over the other. His whole class erupted into laughter, pointing and chanting mean names that he couldn’t ignore. _Know-it-all_ , they said. _Nobody likes a know-it-all_.

Kíli was sent home early.

He spent a week teaching himself to be quiet, to sit still, to keep his hand down even if he had the answer. Quickly, Kíli learned that his classmates hated him when he stood out and hated him just as much when he tried to disappear.

One night, after supper was had and teeth were brushed, just before bedtime, Kíli’s uncle summoned Kíli to his study. When Kíli walked in, at the center of the room stood a box about Kíli’s height, standard cardboard-color brown and plain. There was a stamp on the front of his uncle’s company and instructions to keep the box _this side up_.

Curious, Kíli approached, circled it once and then looked to his uncle for an explanation.

“Go on,” His uncle coaxed, “Open it. It’s for you.”

Kíli found that the tape over one of the folds had already been cut down the sides so all Kíli had to do was pull it down. As soon as he did, Kíli’s eyes went saucer-round and his mouth fell open in surprise.

Standing in the box was a boy – or Kíli assumed it was a boy. He was as tall as Kíli with blond hair and a soft mouth, a round face that looked a little older than Kíli’s years but not by many. Strangely, it seemed that the boy was asleep standing up.

“Do you like him, Kíli?” His uncle asked.

Kíli wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know the boy at all, they’d never met, nor had they been introduced.

“I guess?”

His uncle chuckled and knelt beside him, placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder. With his other hand, his uncle reached behind the sleeping boy’s neck. All of a sudden, the boy came alive, sucking in a great lungful of air; his eyes snapped open, the color of the summer sky, and his cheeks pinked.

“He’s yours, Kíli. Your friend.” His uncle explained. “You can name him whatever you want.”

“Mine?”

Kíli had no idea what to do with a person. He was always bad with people. People didn’t like Kíli.

“Yes. He’ll learn from you, grow with you. You can teach him anything and everything you want. Eventually,” His uncles voice softened to something wistful, “ _Hopefully_ , he’ll learn to do things for himself.”

A friend for Kíli? Who Kíli could teach? _Anything_?

The boy blinked at Kíli, still standing in the box though a little slouched in the shoulders now. Kíli smiled at him and the boy smiled back and felt wonderful to be on the receiving end of it.

“So?” His uncle nudged him. “What are you going to call him?”

Kíli considered the boy for a moment.

“Fíli.” Kíli said at last. “My very own Fíli.”

And just like that, Kíli was no longer a lonely boy.

≡


	11. “Ooouuuuch!!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen, [Apprentice 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22961701) adjacent (doesn't actually occur within the original timeline)

≡

The great hall was in chaos. The attack had been sudden and quite out of nowhere; there’d been nothing to suggest something like— _like this_!— would, _could_ happen, surrounded as they were by palace guards and flare-wielders.

Kíli was one such wielder of a rather impressive flare, now that he’d been practicing under Fíli’s careful tutelage. They’d been invited as guests (GUESTS!) to the royal wedding in what Kíli had read was a _peaceful_ , _serene_ realm of mild magic.

Oh, this wasn’t peaceful nor serene, not at all.

“Ooouuuch!!” Someone cried, hopping on one foot past Kili, face pinched in pain and a fork protruding from his slipper.

In the corner, the orchestra played on, the conductor waving his baton savagely, the music building to an intensity that underscored the mayhem unfolding across the hall. Above him, Kíli watched a helpless minotaur try and swim his way back to earth, his aggressive breaststroke doing nothing to pull him closer to the ground as he floated up up up.

Pixie dust burst against the faces of guards and guests alike as they tried in a flurry to capture the little wretches responsible for the feast’s disruption. Tiny bodies zipped in and out of focus and, when Kíli caught one, the look on its face was smug.

“Kíli!” Fíli cried over the noise, brandishing a platter as both a weapon and a shield. He thwacked a swarm of pixies away, leaving glittery purple trails as they cut through the air. “The queen!”

The color drained from Kíli’s face and he immediately jumped to action, leaping over and twirling around poor guests who’d been dusted to dancing until they dropped, their expression panicked. “We can’t stop!” One of two guards shrieked, his voice high and tight as he waltzed his partner around.

Kíli darted toward the door, thankful that it had remained closed and the queen was on the other side of it. Though, Fíli’s terror was no doubt a result of her on her way to making what was supposed to be her grand entrance.

Kíli rushed forward, pulling the heavy wood open a sliver and squeezing himself through. Immediately, his eyes met the queens, a guard on either side of her. Her astonishment was short-lived; Kíli reached into the pouch on his belt, collected a handful of powder and flinging it into the air above their heads.

“Sleepy night night,” He said, winded, but he didn’t have time to catch his breath.

As soon as he heard their bodies hit the floor, three soft thuds, he was slipping back into the great hall and diving under the table where he’d seen Fíli take refuge.

“What are we going to do?” Kíli was frantic, feet stomping by them, this way and that, some leaving the ground to float toward the ceiling because _bloody pixies_.

“We need to get their king.” Fíli said as if it was obvious. “I think I saw him at the high table.”

The music continued, louder and louder, faster and wilder. Kíli flung himself out and up, nearly tripping over a guest who’d curled himself into a ball, arms wrapped around his head. With all the courage he could muster, Kíli burst forth, grabbing the platter in midair when Fíli flung it at him and using it to hedge the pellets of magic dust the pixies hurled.

In a move that impressed even Kíli, he jumped and twisted and landed perfectly, if somewhat stiff, on the high table, right beside the queen’s seat where the king of the pixies was gorging himself on a leg of lamb.

Kíli grabbed the fat little creature in one fist and held it victoriously above his head. Behind him, he could feel an influx of warm, sultry magic, pulled in like the tide, as Fíli summoned his voice.

“Enough!” Fíli yelled.

The orchestra ceased abruptly, the conductor withering like his strings had been cut, and the guests above started to drift to the ground. The king of the pixies grumbled and squeaked his fury, but Fíli hushed him with a glare. Understanding, Kíli handed Fíli the king and watched as Fíli engaged in a heated discussion, using his finger to punctuate his words as the king did the same with his whole body.

After a minute of this lunacy, the guest and guards were all on their feet of their own volition, the conductor was offered a chair that he sunk into in a dishevelled sprawl and Fíli had somehow managed to negotiate the pixies departure, “They just want some of the food,” Fíli said with a quirked lip and bright eyes, “They were upset because they didn’t receive an invitation.”

“Oh. Well then,” Kíli said as if Fíli’s explanation was any good at all. “By all means.”

Just when Kíli allowed himself to relax, the hall door groaned open and the queen marched in, face still speckled in Kíli’s sleeping powder. He would have been cowed by her eyes alone had they not quickly disappeared, along with her whole face, into the wedding cake the pixies had launched as a final _how-do-you-do_.

“We should leave.” Fíli said gently into Kíli’s ear, taking Kíli’s elbow and hurrying him away.

They disappeared before the cake slid from the queen’s face to the floor in a wet plop.

≡


	12. Fall AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> AU - Modern Setting, Domestic, Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was inspired by a collage i made, posted to Tumblr [here](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/626924256039731200/autumn-in-the-country-au-k%C3%ADli-loves)

≡

Kíli loves this time of year. Crisp, clean air, warm smells; there’s a coziness to autumn that goes deeper than sweaters and scarves and fancy lattes. Everything feels _closer_. Kíli can’t quite put a finger on it but it doesn’t matter. He beams up at the sky, the early sunset casting the woods around him into a wash of golden reds and oranges and browns, a child’s fingerprint painting of erratic, wild color that makes Kíli’s soul swell. 

There’s nothing else in nature as spectacular as fall, in Kíli opinion. 

Plus, best of all, that’s when Fíli bakes. 

The scent of pumpkin pie and cinnamon cookies wafts down to Kíli from the house, through the open back door that Kíli knows Fíli left open on purpose. It’s not so cold today, thankfully, that his brother’s mischief comes at the cost of a nipped nose as it would if it were a few degrees less. 

The Christmas spree of ‘05 comes to the fore of Kíli’s memory, when Fíli was feeling particularly petulant after Kíli told him that he wasn’t interested in gingerbread men anymore because they were childish. While Kíli was down the hill, gathering wood from the stockpile, Fíli had brazenly left the back door open to make a point. Though Fíli had been absolutely correct - Kíli still enjoyed gingerbread men - he’d caught himself quite the messy cold as a result. 

Kíli chuckles, remembering Fíli’s miserable face beneath the warm wash cloth and flushed cheeks. 

None of that today. Kíli leans his ax against the stump and finishes piling the wood nicely before maneuvering his way up the crooked path toward the back door. He takes a long, satisfying breath as he steps over the threshold, smile widening across his lips as a combination of spices drag into his nose. 

Fíli is bustling about, chopping ingredients, expertly quick and efficient, at the counter. Kíli can see that he’s keeping an eye on the pot on the stove which Kíli steps toward, bending over it to suck the aroma in greedily. 

“What’s this?” Kíli asks, picking up the wooden spoon and stirring the simmering concoction. 

“It’s a surprise.” Is all Fíli says, scooping up the ingredients he just chopped and dumping them the bowl at his elbow. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” 

“I hate surprises, Fee, just tell me!” Kíli whines but shushes himself at Fíli’s raised eyebrow and smirk of disbelief. “Well, okay, I like _some_ surprises.” Kíli emends, “C’mon, what is it?”

“A _surprise_.” Fíli repeats slowly as if speaking to a child. “Now go get changed. Uncle will be back soon and I promised we’d have supper ready for ‘im.” 

Kíli huffs a breathy laugh and leans back against the island, looking down at his boots when he says, “I can’t believe it’s take _three years_ for him to get his boyfriend down here.” He lifts his head, a cheeky glint in his eye, and moves to stand behind Fíli, wrapping his arm around Fíli’s middle. “How long do we have before he gets back?”

Fíli pauses what he’s doing and turns in Kíli’s embrace, chewing his lip in that way that hits Kíli in the cock. He cocks his head in consideration and answers, “Long enough, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Fuck the potatoes, we’ll have salad.”

“That’s not every _autumn_ , is it?”

“Well. In that case,” Fíli throws his hands up and shifts back around, tossing the ingredients in the bowl, “I’ll just finish all this instead of sucking you off, shall I?”

The bowl clatters to the stone floor with a loud, echoey clang, spinning on its rim and sending the mix of herbs and spices all over the place. Footsteps stampede up the stairs beyond the kitchen and a door slams with purpose, the kitchen empty when a strong breeze blows the seasoning every-which-way and the bowl finally settles on its top with a hollow metallic scrape.

-*-

Later, Thorin frowns, a little bit of sulk at its edges, as he picks at his salad. Bilbo seems content to munch on the last of this year's summer greens but Thorin had smelt the lingering tease of Fíli's family-famous baked potato rounds. He would say something, bring it up somehow, had he not been sat across his nephews, both of who look puckishly disheveled with matching grins on their faces. 

If it weren't for the smell of spilled spices, Thorin's sure his nose would be victim to other things. 

"Do you like the salad, Uncle?" Fíli asks after a long moment of silence.

Thorin eyes the wrinkled collar of Fili's shirt and clears his throat, "More than I could hope for." and he shoves a forkful into his mouth and leaves it at that. 

≡


	13. Ranch AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> AU - Modern Setting, Ranch AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a collage i made, posted on Tumblr [here](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/618644040130428928/ranch-au-imagine-for-two-generations)

≡

It wasn’t much to look at, that old place, but it was theirs. Had been in the family since the country was still in splinters. Their grandfather had moved on, attracted to the city and all the wealth it promised, but their uncle knew where they belonged.

Kíli was grateful everyday since they’d been back that Thorin had decided to return them to their roots. A hard day’s work was far more satisfying than snapping around an office like an elastic band stretched too thin; papers and accounts and meetings filled with words that didn’t say much at all.

Glancing a ways down, Kíli could see Fíli turning out the horses; drafters they were preparing to hitch come fair season. Big, lumbering beasts next to their smaller riding horses. Fíli visibly laughed as Roxy shook her massive head to and fro, unhappy about having to share his attention with Jade who trotted up behind him for a fond nuzzle.

It had been years since Fíli had been so happy, so carefree and buoyant and without the stress of the everyday grind weighing heavy like a storm above him. 

This Fíli, golden and smiling, was the most beautiful thing Kíli had ever seen.

≡


	14. Thorin's Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a drabble for the Ocean's Eleven AU that still plagues me; originally posted to my [Tumblr](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/615032611192111104/marigoldvance-marigoldvance-thorins). decided to give it a permanent home here where i can easily find it should i ever need it :)

≡

Kíli tore off another piece of his hotdog and tossed it in his mouth, idling at the slot machines tucked just enough away not to draw attention but still maintaining a perfectly unobstructed view of the grand staircase. A view he needed if he was to prove himself to Fíli and Thorin; show them how capable he was when given a task.

Fíli was sat beside him, slotting coins into his machine, sipping some ostentatious cocktail garnished with every fruit in the jungle.

“Okay,” Fíli said after too many minutes of silence, “Tell me about Thranduil.”

Kíli leaned closer to Fíli while remaining a casual distance away. Two friends commiserating over the pretty girls flouncing down the stairs. Fíli’s aftershave was crisp and enticing and Kíli adamantly ignored the way his pulse quickened.

“The guy is a machine.” Kíli said, diving in without hesitation. “He arrives everyday at two p.m. Same town car, same driver. He remembers every valet’s name on the way in.” Kíli snorted, “Not bad for a guy worth three-quarters of a billion dollars.”

Fíli hummed. Kíli snuck a glance at Fíli’s face and was disappointed to see Fíli’s usual relaxed expression in place. Nothing to suggest he was impressed by Kíli’s efforts. Kíli had followed Thomas Thranduil around like a bad smell for three days without being discovered; he should be in line for some kind of Con Artist equivalent of a Nobel.

Still, Kíli continued, “Offices are upstairs. He works hard, hits the lobby floor at seven on the nose. He spends three minutes on the floor with his casino manager.”

They turned their attention toward the balcony overlooking the casino floor a few meters away. There, in his expensive, well-pressed suit, looking exactly like someone with too much money, Thranduil stood and surveilled the scene below with a small, tight grin.

“What do they talk about?” Fíli asked around his straw, slurping a slushy sip of his drink. He leaned further into Kíli’s space, peeking around Kíli to get a better look at what Thranduil could be seeing. Kíli swallowed thickly, the citrusy scent of Fíli’s shampoo tickling his nose.

“All business,” Kíli said and if Fíli noticed a change in the pitch of Kíli’s voice, he didn’t comment. “Thranduil likes to know what’s going on in his casinos. There’s rarely an incident he doesn’t know about or handle personally.”

A few days ago, Kíli had witnessed Thranduil signal his security team before they apprehended a man, rumpled and down on his luck, from one of the Blackjack tables. They’d dragged the man to the back of the house as discreetly as possible, all disappearing behind the door and down the corridor Kíli had seen on the other side. The man had been launched through a back-delivery entrance hours later, face swollen and bloody. Kíli had watched as the man had been hauled into an unmarked black car and driven away. And that, Kíli could only assume, had been the end of it.

Fíli cleared his throat and immediately turned toward his slot machine. Kíli followed his example, tucking his face down and fiddling through his pocket as if searching for loose change. They heard the clear click of luxury soles against marble. From the corner of his eye, Kíli saw Thranduil’s assistant hand Thranduil a black portfolio – everything Thranduil needed to know before he headed off to meet the high rollers.

As their footsteps faded, Kíli went on, settling more leisurely in his seat now that they weren’t under threat of being discovered, “He spends a few minutes gladhanding the high rollers. He’s fluent in Spanish, German, and Italian and he’s taking Japanese lessons.” Kíli shrugged and quirked his lips as if to say he was impressed, “Gettin’ pretty good at it too. He’s out by seven-thirty. Then he heads to the restaurant.”

“The portfolio?” Fíli nodded in the direction Thranduil had gone, obviously having taken note of the exchange.

“The day’s take and the new security codes.” Kíli informed him, popping another piece of hotdog in his mouth, his face splitting into a puppyish lopsided grin. _See? I can do it_ , it read. He swallowed and gestured toward the restaurant nearby, “Then he heads in there.”

They waited for a few seconds. Nothing happened. Fíli raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Give him another ten seconds.”

And _voila_. Ten seconds later, Thranduil once again glided into view like a man on a mission.

“See? What I tell you. The man is a machine.”

Fíli smiled. It was a small thing, barely there but beautiful and it was aimed at Kíli. Kíli couldn’t help the faint blush that crept across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze quickly, remembering they still had a few things to discuss.

“That portfolio contains the codes to all the cage doors?”

Kíli nodded and breathed out slowly. Fíli must’ve misunderstood Kíli’s sudden edginess because he shifted closer and lay a warm hand – a gesture of comfort – on Kíli’s thigh. The thumb that pressed hot circles through Kíli’s jeans was _innocent_ , Kíli told himself.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Kíli assured. “Yeah. Uhm … ” He paused, collected himself quickly and plowed on, “Two minutes after the codes ‘ve been changed, he’s got them in his hand.” Kíli turned to Fíli and fixed him with his best _The Fuck You Get Me In To_ stare. “I’ll tell you: you guys picked a helluva target. He’s as smart and ruthless as they come.” Fíli agreed with a contemplative sound, “The last guy they caught cheating in here, Thranduil not only sent him up for ten years, he got the bank to seize the guy’s home _and_ bankrupted h—”

“—his brother-in-law’s tractor dealership, yeah, I heard.”

That surprised Kíli, made him wonder. If Fíli already knew that, how much else did he already know?

“He doesn’t just go after your knees,” Kíli insisted, annoyed by Fíli’s calm. “He goes after your livelihood. And everyone-you’ve-ever-met’s livelihood.”

“You scared?” Fíli licked his tongue across his lower lip, but it wasn’t enough to distract Kíli. For a man who didn’t talk much he sure worked his mouth a lot.

“You suicidal?”

“Only in the morning.” There was a beat and then Fíli prompted, “And then what?”

“Now comes the love interest.” Kíli smirked at his own joke, “If he comes in after Thranduil does, it means they’re in a snit.”

“Where’s he come from?”

“The museum downstairs. He’s the curator there.” Kíli felt it then, his body clock timed to the rhythms of those he was essentially stalking. “Wait,” He touched Fíli’s wrist lightly, kept his eyes ahead as he felt Fíli’s gaze bore into him when he let his fingers linger a little too long. Kíli shook a hand toward the staircase, “Here he comes. You’ll like this.”

Kíli certainly liked it. The gentleman – because that’s what he was – was the best part of Kíli’s day. He was unconventionally handsome with an expressive face and a demeanor that was somehow both prim and awkward. Most of all, Kíli thought, the man looked _kind_ , soft. A complete contrast to the ugliness that emanated from Thranduil whenever Kíli got close enough. Thranduil was crooked somehow. Guarded eyes and sharp angles. Good looking for about twenty seconds before he opened his mouth and spoke his slime.

They were an odd match.

On cue, the elevators doors dinged open and the gentleman emerged, dapper in a closely tailored charcoal suit with a silk Cabernet vest beneath. Kíli was so focused on the gentleman that he didn’t notice the gobsmacked look of _horror-surprise_ that snapped over Fíli’s face.

As the gentleman made it halfway down the stairs, Kíli was grabbed by the hip and pulled against Fíli’s firm body, held tightly against him like a lover about to be devoured in all of the most sensual ways. Fíli slid his hand down to rest on Kíli’s lower back, cradling Kíli’s jaw with the other, and ducking his head into the curve of Kíli’s neck.

Kíli barely had the wherewithal to watch the gentlemen waltz into the restaurant where he was meeting Thranduil for supper.

“Is he gone?” Fíli asked.

Kíli couldn’t speak, the intimacy of their proximity too much. Instead a whimper escaped his throat. Fíli understood though and took a step back until he was a friendly distance away. Kíli tried not to show his disappointment.

“I don’t even know his name.” Kíli admitted, ashamed that he hadn’t been able to procure that tidbit before Fíli had come to him.

Fixing his suit jacket and smoothing back his hair, Fíli said, “Bilbo.”

“What?”

Fíli quite peculiarly seemed … upset. “His name is Bilbo.”

≡


	15. Thorin's Thirteen 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated **T**
> 
> another addition to the [Ocean's Eleven AU](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/615032611192111104/marigoldvance-marigoldvance-thorins)

≡

Fíli could practically hear the upbeat jazz streaming from a scene of some comedic heist movie when he spied the man in the jewelry store window. The man was lingering a little too long over the display cases, looking around the space over the frames of his sunglasses instead of at the pieces themselves. His back was to the manager, mouth moving, the manager responding in turn – somewhat stiff and on-guard – as he kept an easy pace around the floor.

Fíli watched with mild curiosity, crumpling up his napkin and tossing it on his empty plate. The café was deserted apart from himself and the waitress and she was busy aggressively typing on her phone behind the counter. His coffee was full – two cream, two sugar – and his appointment was delayed so he indulged himself in the show transpiring across the street.

Leaning back in his chair, Fíli made himself comfortable as he waited for the inevitable; legs stretched under the table and crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his middle. Crescent-moon smirk spreading like a water stain as the scene unfolded.

The manager removed a piece the man had asked to see, placing it with absurd gentleness on the surface of the display case between them. The man nodded at whatever the manager was explaining, maintaining an air of sharp interest as the manager gestured at the piece’s various elements.

Even from where he sat, Fíli could see the million-dollar sparkle when the light struck it just right.

It was over exactly two minutes later; a handshake, a tilt of the head and a smile that promised a future transaction. The manager looked immensely pleased.

Fíli felt the smallest twinge of pity for him. 

A glance at his watch told Fíli it was three-fifty-two. The bell above the door chimed when a new patron entered, and the waitress sprung into action as if she’d been caught by a parent watching porn. Maybe she had been, Fíli didn’t know. But she was altogether ignored as her new client made a beeline for the chair opposite Fíli, pulling it out with a scrape and a quick, offhand order for an espresso – short – flung into the air with expectation.

“Twenty-two minutes.” Fíli said, eyebrow raised in bemusement.

Hands flew up in submission, “I know, I know, I’m sorry—”

“You’re not sorry, you’re late.”

“I was looking for investors.”

Fíli snorted and turned his gaze to the jewelry store. “You were doing recon.”

“I.” There was a pause and then a reluctant, “I may have been.”

Fíli’s mouth twisted into the faintest shadow of a grin. He didn’t want to encourage his uncle’s behavior, but he could hardly help it when Thorin was being amusing.

“Is that why you chose this place?” Fíli waved to encompass the whole of the café.

“It’s a nice place.”

“It isn’t bad. Good coffee.”

Thorin melted into his chair, a casual arm thrown over the backrest, ankle over his knee. “Ah, you haven’t tried the pie.”

“You didn’t bring me here for pie.” Fíli said flatly.

Thorin didn’t falter, simply kept smiling as if they’d been chatting about wives they didn’t have driving them crazy with dinner plans or curtains or whatever wives drove their husbands crazy with (Fíli wasn’t familiar). “I didn’t bring you here for pie.” He acquiesced with a flourish of his hand.

“I doubt you brought me here to rob a jewelry store either,” Fíli heaved a breath, sat up straight and clapped and then settled forward with his hands folded on the table in front of him. “So. Why am I here?”

They both leaned away from the table when the waitress delivered Thorin’s espresso, dismissing her with a charming wink (Fíli) and a provocative smile (Thorin). She blushed and excused herself to return behind the counter.

Thorin leaned back in, elbow on the table, encouraging Fíli to follow suit with a subtle nod. “I have a job.”

“Right.” Fíli said because it was obvious from the subtext of the collect call he’d received at four in the morning that Thorin had a job.

“A big one.”

“Okay.”

“And I need you with me on this.”

Fíli uncurled himself and sunk back into his chair, taking a moment to sip his coffee while he considered Thorin’s request. Or, what would be considered a request by Thorin-standards. It sounded more like a demand, but Fíli knew he wasn’t obligated to do anything he didn’t feel completely certain was a good idea. The problem? Thorin’s ideas were never good but they always, somehow, someway, worked out for the richer.

He took a slow breath and then another before he decided to ask, “What did you have in mind?”

The expression that seeped over Thorin’s face was enough to make Fíli think about calling his mother because he may never see her again.

Jesus, he didn’t have the complexion to pull off orange.

≡


	16. The Crooked Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, G
> 
> for the prompt from [PatchworkIdeas](https://patchworkideas.tumblr.com/): _How about FiKi inheriting an old magic Castle they get to explore and figure out and make a life for themselves in? Your choice what kind of magic, maybe a ghost they end up befriending, or just a weird castle that seems to never run out of new rooms, where stuff just keeps appearing or dissappearing seemingly at random or anything else you think would be fun! Preferably with a nice happy ending for our boys - you know I'm a sucker for that and they so deserve them! *laugh*_
> 
> well, this is one interpretation (in drabble-form) of the above ~~i have many others that'll be shared here and there~~ :)

≡

They inherited it, Thorin told them, from some distant relative in their grandfather’s circle. Fíli was feeling less sure by the second that there was any truth behind the claim. The gravel crunched under the tires as he pulled to a stop in front of the wide stone staircase, its balustrade entirely consumed by falls of ivy and its steps weathered and cracked. 

Beneath the dark, overcast sky, the house look transplanted from Bram Stoker’s Transylvania; like something out of a nightmare, left to rot with its secrets. The place was being cared for in the most casual sense: If a pipe burst, it was mended; if a tree branch shattered a window, it was replaced. Otherwise, the grounds were left untouched for what seemed to be more decades than Fíli had been alive. 

“Jesus, we should’ve called a priest.” Kíli said, sounding very uncertain about being there. He sunk back into the passanger seat after leaning across Fíli for another moment, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you sure this is the address?”

Fíli spared his brother a look that told Kíli exactly how Fíli felt about Kíli’s question. 

“Of course it is,” Kíli sighed through his nose, “Because aren’t we lucky enough to inherit a fucking _haunted house_.” 

“Manor.” Fíli corrected, distracted by the eerie façade. 

There were black stains licked up around some of the windows and into the eaves; dead, brown vines spilling over either side of the balcony above that rustled like dead hair in the wind, framing the grand oak doors on either side as curtains. No light came from inside, natural or otherwise, as if Fíli was peering into the void of Hell itself. 

A shudder overcame him from the toes up, clutching in his gut as he took it all in. The drive through town was enough to give him the creeps but now, being _here_ , he felt ill. A squirmy, cold-wet feeling clawed up his spine the way it would when he’d been a child and saw a shadow flicker the wrong way in his room at night. 

Fíli swallowed the dread that thickened in his throat like sludge. 

“I think we should reconsider the inn in town.” Kíli uttered, clearly faring no better, his brow clammy and the whites of his eyes too big. 

Fíli grabbed his brother’s hand and took a breath, clenching once to reassure Kíli that they were together, that nothing could hurt them. Besides, “It’s just a house, Kee.”

Kíli snatched Fíli’s gaze and held it fiercely, “Say it like you mean it and I’ll believe you.”

Unable to give the words shape on his tongue, Fíli simply clutched Kíli’s hand harder. 

≡


	17. "I've got enemies."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, T [part of the [Mafia-verse](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/622261572942823424/stone-giants-2015-or-beorns-t-fiki-tw)]

≡

The kid was a pain in the ass; the definition of spoilt with the luxury of no one giving a shit this far into his years. Supposedly, he was being groomed to lead an easier facet of the Family business; some nonconsequential limb that would hopefully keep him busy and away from the clubs long enough for his uncle to save face with his newest crop of “investors”. 

Obviously that was scheduled to start at a later date because tonight? They were stuck in another hotel room, Fíli there with orders to babysit and the kid making a fool of himself in front of his three glittering guests; willowy swans already bug-eyed and loose over a cocktail of drugs spread across the corner of suite’s fully-stocked bar. 

Fuck if Fíli knew how he was going to pull it off, but he had to get a message to Bard. 

According to the head of Thorin’s security, Thorin was on his way to a meeting with who Fíli was sure was the Second for the Koreans. Fíli wasn’t permitted within a one-hundred foot radius of the restaurant Thorin had reserved entirely – no one outside of Thorin’s personal security was.

Fíli needed to think fast, except logic dictated that he wouldn’t be able to scrounge up a half-decent excuse to disappear and call Bard. A brat the kid may have been but he was also observant, even under the influence, and leaving him alone for any reason less than a blockbuster shootout was sure to spark suspicion. 

What even was that, huh? Fíli thought the kid would be worth someone with more experience with the Family. Someone with seniority, who spoke to Thorin with familiarity. Yet here _he_ was, entrusted with the wellbeing of Thorin’s only living blood-relative and possible heir to the Family business: A veritable stranger who could want to twist the kid’s head right off his neck and was granted the proximity to do it. 

Fíli assumed, when he’d been hired, that he’d be given lesser, more vague tasks such as keeping an eye on the perimeter or vetting guests at the gate. Normal procedure with new security personnel. 

Maybe Thorin worked a little backwards.

 _Or he doesn’t give a damn_ , Fíli’s mind supplied with more honesty than Fíli had time to examine at the moment. Either way, brilliantly, thus far, being a cock’s length away from the Durin’s inner-circle was working _against_ Fíli rather than _for_ him.

Fíli was pulled back to the present when the subject of his thoughts raised the volume of his voice. Kíli had distracted himself with a rolling monologue since his uncle had taken his leave, and was no closer to finished as far as Fíli could tell. The girls were in their own world, swaying to a club beat playing on one of their phones, dipping like Insatiable Birds to suck lines up their noses in intervals. 

Fíli spared a quick look at the kid, just to make sure he wasn’t making moves to the balcony. That was all. It had nothing to do with the way Kíli sort of appeared to have fallen out of Caravaggio’s canvas. 

Little shit.

Kíli was stripped to his button-down and slacks, the shirt open and untucked and drooping off one well-cut shoulder which served to accentuate the supple curve of his neck as his head swung heavily throughout his rant. His pale olive skin was flushed a comely shade of pink down to his chest in blotches and, not for the first time, Fíli caught himself wondering if that’s how Kíli blushed when he was spread out and dirty under another body. Kíli’s lips were shiny with a combination of spit and Stoli Elit, red tongue darting out habitually to wet them and distract Fíli from the grot that generous mouth was spewing.

Kíli swayed forward in his seat, elbows falling on his knees with the force of intoxication. “Locked away like fucking Rapunzel.” he was saying, pushing his complaint through his teeth like dough. Then he said, a little louder, “I don’t understand why he doesn’t trust me to go with him!”

Fíli knew Kíli wasn’t addressing him, that the question was rhetorical and Kíli didn’t want an answer unless it was catered to stroke his delicate ego. But. Fíli couldn’t help himself.

“You couldn’t be trusted with a secret if you were on ice.” Fíli informed him; his eyes returned to the knife he’d been polishing at the suite’s coffee table and refused to acknowledge Kíli even when he felt the weight of Kíli’s gaze snap across the room and hit him like a lash to the side of the head. “It’s not a mystery why your uncle doesn’t want you there. Christ, you’d probably spit his business into his enemy’s ear if they offered you enough juice.” He motioned haphazardly at the bottle Kíli had a death-grip on. Kíli, for his part, looked murderous but Fíli wasn’t fazed, “You don’t know how to keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh? Is that what you think?” Kíli snapped, getting his feet under him and pushing himself up with the arm of his chair. His grip sunk into the cushioning as he steadied himself, his legs wobbling at the ankles, the vodka sluicing through his veins hitting him like vertigo at the change in elevation. “You think I’m a rat?”

“You’re a fucken mess, kid.”

Fíli felt a little throb of guilt when Kíli’s eyes dulled, his face shuttered; Kíli tried to curl his lips into something akin to a snarl, to look threatening and as large as his uncle but what he managed made him appear even more lost. All he was, really, was a lonely little boy who found a friend at the bottom of a bottle and had no one who cared enough to tell him why that was pathetic.

Jesus, Kíli wasn’t even twenty yet.

“People want me dead, you know, that’s why I’m here.” Kíli said, the force in his voice as fragile as spring ice. “Because I know things, I’m important.” Kíli swept an arm broadly in front of him. Whatever he was trying to encompass with the gesture, Fíli didn’t even bother to guess. The angsty ravings of drunken children were all the same: Confused, contradictory. Like using a broken fist to punch the doctor you called to fix it. “I got enemies.”

Tossing his knife onto the table with a metallic clatter, Fíli leaned back on the sofa, legs splayed and arms loose between them in an obvious show of fatigue.

Fíli didn’t know why he said it, didn’t dwell on it, just let the words slip out to ruminate behind Kíli’s glassy eyes - liquid cinnamon under the warm light of the suite’s gaudy chandelier. Perhaps it was because of those eyes Fíli had said anything at all. 

“You’ve got me.” 

From one breath to the next, Kíli’s demeanor changed. His legs locked, shoulders squared, chin rose. Those pretty, glassy, cinnamon eyes sharpened inscrutably, piercing deep into Fíli’s like fishhooks. With a straight mouth and tight jaw, Kíli doused ice-water fear over Fili’s soul and froze him from the inside out, because fuck _—_ “Same thing, isn’t it?” 

_—_ the kid knew.

≡


	18. Ghost House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, T

So, I saw this (after watching [Ghosts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5e0nB1mSd9Q)) and immediately thought: [**Kíli would buy this house**](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/631610793859940352/so-i-saw-this-after-watching-ghosts-and). And Fíli would suffer for it. But it’s comedy gold, so it’s okay.

≡

Kíli decides it’s his, site unseen, apart from the brief instant he lays eyes on it – _at a distance_. _From the road_. _On the wrong side of the high, wrought-iron fence_ (completely obscured by a thick cover of gnarled climbing plants) – when he and Fíli drive past on their way through the quiet town. 

> A town, Fíli will have you know, that they had no intention of stopping in. Ever. Because Fíli had heard the rumors, okay? He’d done the research when they’d plotted their course and it was mutually (and vehemently) agreed upon that This Town was for appreciating in the review only. 

It’s a feeling; this sense of rightness, of belonging, of ownership. Amongst their family, Kíli’s known for his strong sense of intuition that tumbles violently into the realm of psychic ability. Used to it, Fíli hardly glimpses a thought forKíli’s sudden and unprecedented interest in an overtly abandoned, probably haunted to hell, might-be-the-den-of-Satan’s-disciples house. 

S’great. Really.

Kíli convinces Fíli to stay for the night at the ~~just as creepy~~ local Inn whose proprietors look as weathered and old as the property itself. Fíli has a weird feeling vibrating in his bones, but Kíli’s smitten and on some sort of mission and Fíli can’t deny his brother when he gets like this. So, Fíli books the room. The crone at reception gives him a shiver-inducing, milky-eyed elevator stare and, without a word, hands him the key for what he’ll find out is the Newlywed Suite (one enormous four-poster and a deep, wide claw-foot tub sharing the moderately sized space). 

It’s ~~of course~~ midnight when Kíli drags Fíli out of bed, brown eyes unfocused and distant as they often get when Kíli’s not entirely in control of himself. _It’s not possession_ , Kíli has insisted in the past, _it’s more like_ _being guided from the inside_. 

> Yeah, Fíli’s so profoundly uncomfortable with the intimacy involved in Kíli’s _guiding_ that he has to recite all the poems he learned in Uni to keep from performing an exorcism. 
> 
> _Life means all_ _that it ever meant_ and really, though _:_ Some stranger? **Inside** his brother? _It is the same as it ever was_ where do they get off?! _There is absolute and unbroken certainty_ and this isn’t jealousy, this is concern for Kíli’s welfare! _What is death but a negligible accident_ but seriously, get out. Please and fuck you.*

The streets are empty as they wander to the ~~DID YOU NOT READ ABOUT THE MURDERS, KÍLI?~~ house, the town eerily silent in sleep. To Fíli, it’s as if he has cotton in his ears; even the noise of his footfalls on crunchy brown leaves doesn’t sound right, a little too murky and faraway. Kíli doesn’t notice or, more likely, doesn’t care. He holds Fíli’s hand – fingers laced, thumb gently stroking in reassurance that’s not very reassuring – and leads them through the front gate. Just like that. No fanfare, no crime, no spooky/whiny groan as it opens like the great maw of a monster. Just … an everyday gate opening as it’s wont to.

Fíli hesitates. Not because he’s afraid, he’s not (not shriek-at-the-first-jump-scare afraid, anyway), but because _someone_ has to be cautious and it sure as shit isn’t Kíli who’s already dragging forward against the shackle of Fíli’s hand around his wrist, towing Fíli behind him even as Fíli digs his heels into the ground.

“Kee—”

Naturally, Kíli ignores Fíli’s warning, shakes off his grip and charges up the creepy stairs, across the creepy porch and into the conveniently unlocked creepy door that’s leaning partly off its hinges, disappearing into the dense shadows beyond the threshold as though he’s waltzing into a friend’s house for tea. 

Cool. Cool coo-cool cool cool cool.

Well then. Just have to—Pffttt. _Letsgogetonwithitokay_.

Fíli hypes himself up; takes a long, satisfying breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before releasing it over a few more: Kíli’s his brother, Kíli is his _way more than a brother_ , and he has to make sure Kíli isn’t marching into House on Haunted Hill. Which this probably is, if Fíli’s research wasn’t exaggerated. Why can’t they ever find a place as modern and bright as Kriticos’ clockwork mansion? Huh? **WHY**.

Kíli’s upstairs when Fíli finally tracks him down, the black shadows not as depriving once his eyes adjusted. There’s enough light filtering through the grimy windows to see by. Kíli’s in the middle of the room, arms crossed, one hand under his chin – a real Thinker – because he’s clearly considering something that Fíli is in no way going to be consulted about. Kíli’s gaze is set and it’s definitely not on the torn away antique wallpaper on the opposite wall.

“Right.” Kíli says about ten minutes later, once Fíli’s found the courage to sit his arse on the dusty bedspread – aggressively ignoring the mysterious-but-not-really-though-are-they-? stains in the fabric. Fíli pops his head up and looks at his brother who’s now moving with purpose out the room and toward the stairs. “C’mon Fee!” He calls over his shoulder, trampling down, avoiding the holes at the behest of the disembodied voice at his ear, “We have a deed to sign!”

> Oh no they bloody don’t.
> 
> But oh yes they bloody do.

Fíli shares all he learned about the house with Kíli, urgently explaining the number of suspicious and gruesome deaths that took place on the grounds Kíli is determined to own. There are wild, sharp gestures and a range of voice pitches and Kíli keeps humming to himself as if Fíli is a ghost who can’t get through to him which, rude. And seriously? They have somewhere to be! (“Not anymore!”)

The bank is too eager to hand Kíli the keys, practically shoving them in Kíli’s hand along with all the necessary documents, and isn’t that a sign? No? ‘Spose not with the way Kíli is grinning like the cat who got the canary. And then off they go, back to the house that gives Fíli an aneurysm in his soul just to look at, Kíli skipping up the pathway, warbling about putting a list together of the supplies they’ll need for the renovation, “— and they seem keen on a new parlor; and there’s something about the eaves, don’t let me forget! And they don’t want us interfering with the integrity of the house but that’s not a problem, is it? And—” on and on it goes.

Fíli is helpless and resigned and follows Kíli’s directions: Paint this wall, hide that portrait, don’t bother locking the bathroom doors, they can peek through walls anyway. Fun. Fíli’s now experienced the discomfort of showering with his swim trunks on for a week.

A month in, Fíli learns all the ghosts’ names, not that it matters since he can’t see them. Or hear them. Or interact with them in any way, shape or form outside of Kíli relaying messages to him about all the things Fíli’s done wrong during the repairs. Ungrateful motherfu—

“Fee, can you believe we open next week?”

Oh yes, they’ve converted the terribly unsettling, tragically ghost-infested house into the new town Inn. When Fíli was given the news he almost didn’t catch the, “The old Inn is run by phantoms who are ready to move on so —” hastily packed into his brother’s diatribe like an afterthought. Fíli wonders if Kíli speaks so fast on purpose, hoping that Fíli can’t make out all the words he says. 

> No, this doesn’t make Fíli paranormal-inclined like Kíli. Phantoms are physical impressions that anyone can see and interact with on grounds the phantoms _own_ or have acute ties to. Kíli does a masterful job explaining the astounding and impressive facts to Fíli; it’s all very sound supernatural-science and makes complete and utter sense however, the author doesn’t feel inclined to share atm (҂⌣̀_⌣́)

Fíli’s mind seizes and proceeds to get monumentally stuck on Kíli’s oh-so-casual drop of: “We stayed in an Inn that’s itself trapped in interdimensional limbo, blah blah blah Twilight Zone blah blah” because, hold up, rewind, does that mean they were, in reality, _outside_ the whole time? Did they fuck al fresco for the viewing pleasure of the houses on either side? Shouldn’t they be compensated?!

Kíli isn’t forthcoming with answers, distracted as he is by his excitement and the next thing Fíli knows, Kíli’s clinging to him like a koala, laughing and smacking kisses to Fíli’s cheeks and nose and, yes, it works; Fíli lets his frustrations melt into the ether. Where apparently their room in the Inn exists. Fantastic.

> Is that where his missing socks went?

Whatever, with Kíli looking at him like that, like he’s the center of the universe, Fíli can’t bring himself to care much, chooses to band one arm around Kíli’s tapered waist, the other hooked under Kíli’s tight arse, and enjoy the weight of Kíli so thoroughly wrapped around him. 

At the end of the day, Kíli now owns a property teeming with ghosts who enjoy watching reruns of _Faulty Towers_ on Fíli’s laptop during the day; who can’t talk to Fíli but sure as hell make their presence known by flickering lights or making weird smells to communicate their displeasure at his handiwork. Sometimes, Fíli is convinced that they played a part in the demise of his favorite Frankenstein’s Monster figurine.

Fíli and Kíli promote the Inn as the “most haunted house in the country” which, as you can imagine, attracts all the _sanest_ , _most ordinary_ people … 

Yet, all in all – okay, fine, Fíli can admit it – they’re happy. Like, actually, deeply, emotionally/mentally/spiritually at peace and content and so fucking happy and Fíli wouldn’t change a damn thing, not even the bloody ghost parade who, at this point, exist to make him miserable.

Fíli gets used to wearing his swim trunks in the shower …

≡

* extract from Henry Scott-Holland’s poem Death Is Nothing At All (woven into Fíli’s messy stream of consciousness)


	19. Fox Paws and Otter Claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, fox!Fee, otter!Kee, Slice of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [@Silva_13](https://silva-13.tumblr.com/)

≡

They’ve been alive too long that no one remained who once knew them as brothers. No one to raise hell in judgement when their love deviated from the norm and exceeded that of family. Granted, it hadn’t happened when they’d been wholly _one thing_ ; it had been a gradual manifestation built from years of alone togetherness. A foundation of epiphany and omniscient understanding that transcended what their mortal minds were shaped to believe was _correct_.

Muffled shadows of disgust, selfishness, jealousy, linger in the back of Kíli’s mind, like the memory of a smell. Still there when his human heart is in control but vanished when the anima inside reassembles their shape. When Kíli had swallowed the otter, when it had made space for itself behind his heart, the world took on a new shape. Things made sense in a richer, simpler way.

Freedom felt different, the desire for it all-encompassing, and it drove Kíli and his brother, Fíli, away from their village and their people who existed along straighter paths that either could stand to follow anymore.

They turned away from all they’d known months after Fíli swallowed the fox and accepted it into his soul. As soon as he was newly stitched together, it was as if all Kíli’s senses blossomed at once. His entire being shifted with tectonic force and reached out to Fili, every particle attracted in arcs and lines aching for Fili’s skin, his teeth, his tongue. Kili had never yearned to be consumed so completely, never thought it was something a person could truly feel, yet it required a strength Kili couldn’t summon to hold himself apart from Fili.

Their uncle found them tangled and slick in their room, on the bed on their sides and naked without shame.

Sometimes, Kíli misses his mother.

Sometimes, Fíli does too.

Neither regrets his choice.

Kíli took Fili’s hand that same night and guided him to the forest where they remained for as long as it stood. When the trees were logged and their den was cleared away, their anima traveled through roots and tunnels to forests all over the globe. Eventually, though, they returned. 

Kíli doesn’t know how their family fared.

It didn’t matter then; it doesn’t matter now—

A cold nose presses into his cheek, drawing him out of the past. Kíli turns his head and smiles dimly, the gentlest thing, and knocks his nose against his brother’s furry snout. Fíli’s bushy tail twitches behind him, beckoning Kíli to play. The winter is ended, the ground squashy and slush-wet beneath Kíli’s back, and the sun is warm where it touches his skin. It was a long winter and Kíli fancies he could indulge Fíli in this; it’s been so long since they’ve allowed themselves to have fun.

Fíli yips and jumps, bounding back into the trees then bursting out again, sleek paws carrying him in exuberant circles when he identifies Kíli’s response. He stops a few feet away, intelligent eyes watching patiently, waiting for Kíli’s body to change. Though he’d prefer to be closer to the river, Kíli reaches within himself and prods the bundle of warm ruby heat, clearing his mind to allow room for the shift to take place.

The sensation begins in his finger and toes, like lukewarm water lapping at the tips of him before spreading along his limbs and to his core. Kíli twists and shrinks – bones, cartilage, muscle and membrane all shifting comfortably until he’s lying on his furry back in the impression his first form left in the soft ground. Wriggling, he rolls onto his belly and drags himself forward with his back feet, relishing in the feel of the the cool mud against him.

Suddenly, he’s shoved onto his side, a flash of orange streaking into the brush and disappearing with the echo of a high, cackly bark. Righting himself, Kíli releases a signal of chirps to the sky and darts after his brother, whiskers flickering in the breeze as he springs through the undergrowth. He catches a faint sniff of Fíli’s fur-musky scent on the trail he follows, skipping right and then left and then around in a confusing pattern meant to throw him off.

Too bad Kíli doesn’t fall for such tricks anymore.

Ahead, he hears a distinct screamy how-yow-wowl. Behind it, there’s the rush of running water and the lazy grunts of hungry bears. They won’t be a problem, Kíli knows, as one of their ilk is like him. Once less, now more. He scurries toward his brother’s last position, diving into a bush and bursting out the other side, clawed feet catching him as he scrapes to the riverbank.

Prancing from rock to rock, Fíli spares Kíli a glance and a series of happy yips, tail thrashing the closer Kíli gets to him. They leap into the air at the same moment, meeting with a thuddy smack in the middle and tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs and creature-laughter.

One of the bears raises its head but otherwise pays them no mind as they roll about, nipping each other’s throats and chins. Kíli manages to shove Fíli into the shallow water and holds his stomach as he shrieks mirthfully at the sight. Fíli emerges, sodden and grouchy before he sneezes his shiny coat fluffy. Eyes pinched closed, Kíli doesn’t see Fíli charge him until he’s already sailing through the air and splashing into the water.

The sky is beginning to blush when they finally find a place to curl together in the grass, both sated and depleted of their energy. Over the loud rush of river water, Kíli hears the windy sound of human traffic and the bleats of horns; he dozes to early crickets and church bells. Fíli’s tail is wrapped around him, his head tucked under Fíli’s chin. When they wake in the moonlight – two arms, two legs, eyes nose mouth – Fíli pulls Kíli, kicking and squirming, into his arms and lopes to the water where he releases Kíli in revenge.

“That’s not fair!” Kíli splutters.

“All is fair, as they say, brother!” Fíli chuckles and tackles Kíli down again.

The struggle is half-hearted and sluggish and, when they’re done, they lean against each other, waist-deep, arms stretched behind them for support. Fíli turns his face to the moon and smiles. Kíli turns his face to his brother and does the same.

It may not be exciting, this life, simple now and undemanding, but they’ve been alive too long that no one else remained who once knew them. So, they take pleasure where they can, how they can, with each other, and that is more than enough.

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, while this pretty much gives away which were my contributions to the [Secret Admirer](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SecretAdmirers2020) event, i couldn't _not_ share this. i loved it when i wrote it, i still do, but it no longer fits in the world of [the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900903) ( ~~that i am now just plucking from anonymity all willy-nilly with no bothers left, apparently~~ ). kinda. like, it does but ... it doesn't? anyway. 
> 
> i hope, my darlingest Silva, that this brings a smile to your face because you deserve a moment of peace, relaxation and happiness * _sloppy kisses_ * ❤️❤️❤️


	20. This House Has Teeth (it will eat you alive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> AU - Modern Setting, Not Related, (the house is a metaphor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _187\. There’s an old house at the end of the lane that’s not abandoned, but no one ever sees the occupant. One day Character A finds out why._

≡

There was an old house on the corner that Kíli swore wasn’t always there. Not that it vanished; simply that, on some days, it took a peculiar amount of concentration to remember where it stood, to remember having seen it at all. Like déjà vu, Kíli would feel a tingle and pull in his mind whenever he laid eyes on the house’s blackened, crooked face, as if it was _familiar_ – a ghost of a memory that hadn’t quite formed – and not a place he passed every day on his way to the bus stop on the corner.

Kíli was convinced the house was alive. 

A beast with glass teeth and wooden bones; decayed by loneliness. The surrounding property was overgrown and dead, weeds sprung from between spiderweb cracks in the cement walkway leading from the gate – sealed by rust for many years – to the porch, rotted and collapsed. _An eyesore_ , one neighbor had commented. _A deathtrap_ , another had declared. No one did anything about it. Everyone seemed to forget when they glanced away.

Honestly, in recent months, Kíli believed he was the only person aware of its existence, everyone skirting around his questions when he asked about its history and how it came to be abandoned. _If_ it was abandoned.

When Kíli was young, he dared his friends to sneak up to the door and knock to see if anyone was home. None did, all too scared and pretending to be oblivious of where Kíli had suggested they go. Except one; he’d climbed the fence and touched the door, giving them all a smug grin when he rejoined them in one piece.

Kíli can’t picture his face clearly anymore, too young to have thought to make a permanent stamp in his mind; he didn’t understand then that death means people leave and don’t come back just because you miss them.

Once, when Kíli was a little older, he’d thought he’d seen a light flicker in an upstairs window, a shadow moving about in the glow it cast. Curiosity had snuck him out of his bedroom window and down the trellis below it to investigate but when he’d reached the house, the light had been snuffed.

Apparently, someone else had noticed the unusual light and had decided to seek it out as well, lingeringly stiffly at the gate. Mr. Óin hadn’t been outside of his own home for months, Kíli had learned from overheard conversations. He’d been frailer than Kíli’d ever seen him, grayer; sunken eyes and cracked lips. When Kíli’d tried getting his attention, Mr. Óin had ignored him, never wavering from the front door that was eerily left ajar.

The peek Kíli had managed provided nothing but thick black. A chill had run up his spine, the kind a person feels at random and causes the whole body to jerk and everyone says _it’s a sign from your guardian angel!_

In that moment, Kíli hadn’t felt very protected or reassured. Instead, as he’d observed Mr. Óin, he’d felt increasingly unsettled. After two attempts to call to Mr. Óin, Kíli had chosen to leave well enough alone and go home before anyone discovered he’d gone.

Six months later, it had happened again. That time, Kíli had stayed in his room; locked his window and watched Mrs. Undómiel glide, less gracefully than she’d normally been, toward the house. As it had been with Mr. Óin, she’d waited outside long enough that Kíli had lost interest and had gone to sleep.

After those two instances, Kíli aged into adolescence and became absorbed by new interests, new friends, new feelings. Thoughts of the house at the end of the street faded into vague acknowledgement in his periphery when he walked by. Eventually Kíli stopped noticing the house altogether.

Which is why, now, he found it odd that he was at the gate, a sensation of _waiting_ keeping him stuck there when all he wanted to do was go back to bed. He smelt the comfort of woodsmoke in the air, wafted down the street; uncommon given the season but, teeth chattering and skin spotted with gooseflesh, Kíli supposed fall was early this year.

He thought about his mother who would be home soon, worried when she would check on him and he wouldn’t be there because he’d decided, for some reason that he couldn’t put a finger on, that he _had to_ visit the ruin of a house or risk being restless for the remainder of the night. It had started with an itch under his skin that had grown into a burning need, soothed the moment he stepped up to the gate.

The door was open a crack, beckoning him through the gate that opened easily when he pushed. With cautious steps, one hesitant foot after the next, he moved up the stairs – they didn’t feel caved and broken under him as he climbed – and knocked with a knuckle on the doorframe.

A light danced through the crack. Kíli startled when a figure appeared behind it, his heart jumping to his throat. The figure smiled and opened the door more fully, stepping aside in silent invitation. Kíli accepted.

The figure behind the flickering candle turned out to be rather handsome when Kíli gave himself a chance to look, standing and staring at one another in the foyer. He was about Kíli’s height, dressed all in black, with lustrous golden hair tied in a low ponytail. His lips were fine yet lush, a sheen making them pink and inviting, and they curled up to the sweetest pair of dimples at the corners. Kíli concluded his appreciation of the stranger at the stranger’s eyes. Alluring pools of every shade of blue Kíli knew existed in the world. Kíli could feel them traveling the length of him, from the toes up until they were holding Kíli’s gaze, where they stayed.

It was as if the stranger was reading every page of Kíli’s life through his eyes.

The wail of sirens sounded nearby, perhaps a few streets over, was muffled completely when a draft caused the front door to slam shut. The stranger's eyes never strayed.

Kíli couldn’t stop the shiver that crept up his back and to his neck, raising the little hairs there. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid or excited because the stranger was still looking at him – into him – and smiling charmingly and Kíli kind of, sort of, wanted to remain trapped under that attention forever.

“Welcome to my home.” The stranger finally spoke, his voice rippling over Kíli like hot wax and honey. “My name is Fíli.”

“Hello.” Kíli rasped, throat suddenly dry.

Fíli’s hips swayed as he drifted toward Kíli, raising the candle to better illuminate Kíli’s face as if to examine him more thoroughly.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Fíli asked, cocking his head to the side.

Kíli frowned, nibbled his lip, and tried to think of what had steered him there. Nothing came to mind. “No.” He admitted. Somehow, that truth didn’t worry him, Fíli’s presence calming Kíli before he had a chance to panic.

“That’s alright,” Fíli said, “Most don’t remember.” which sounded curious to Kíli’s ears. Still, Kíli didn’t question it, content to allow the timbre of Fíli’s voice ease him. “Come with me. I've prepared a room for you.”

Kíli was forgetting something, he was certain of it, nudging the blurred edges of his thoughts. Despite how he tried to sharpen them, they shifted like static. The strain of trying to remember caused a disagreeable pressure in his skull so he stopped, letting Fíli lead him up a grand staircase and along a corridor lined with doors, some closed, some open. He was sure he'd never been inside the room Fíli ushered him to and yet there was a sense of familiarity about the space. The lingering tingle of déjà vu crept over Kíli as he checked everything out - double bed, walls plastered with posters of bands he thought he recognized. The view from the window was of a tall, imposing house that Kíli hadn't seen before. Lights flickered in four of its windows.

Kíli sat on the bed and thanked Fíli for his hospitality considering, "I didn't even know I was lost." Kíli grimaced, looking embarrassed. That was normally something people recognized about themselves right away: Whether or not they knew where they were. He struggled to recall how he'd come to be there, where he'd come from, if anyone knew he was gone. If anyone _knew him_ at all. 

"Get some rest," Fíli said, "You've come a long way."

"Thanks."

Time passed – weirdly and without the sense of wasting it or not having enough of it or all the other things time used to mean. Kíli met the other two occupants of Fíli's home, a young boy named Ori and a woman named Arwen. Like his room, Kili was overwhelmed with a sureness that they'd met before but neither recognized him and said as much when Kíli asked. The boy, Ori, was silly and annoying and challenged Kili to stupid kiddy dares ("Eat a whole tube of toothpaste!" - "Look up Mrs. Arwen's dress!" - "I dare you to go knock on the door of that creepy old house." - The last made cold fingers clutch Kíli's heart).

Arwen was less aggravating company. She often sat and read in the small library located in the back of Fíli's house. Kíli would join her when he wasn't being pestered by Ori or asked to spend time with Fíli. When Kíli's curiosity got the better of him, he was eager to know, "I hope you don't mind but, why are you staying with Fíli?"

Arwen smiled the prettiest smile Kíli had ever seen. "I'm waiting for my husband," She answered.

There were many nights when Kíli dreamt of fire and Fíli appeared at his bedside, would hold him and rock him; placed kisses in Kíli’s hair and stroked his arms and promised Kíli was safe now.

In a moment of clarity, his breathing ragged and mind whirling with the images and smells of hot flame and charred flesh, Kíli realized, “Where am I?” since he truly had no idea.

“The In Between.” Fíli replied simply and, in a surreal way, it explained everything.

Kíli nodded and wondered, “What are you doing here?”

“This is my home."

"Yeah but ... why do you let strangers stay with you?" That was a perfectly reasonable question. "Is it a Bed And Breakfast?"

"No," Fíli chuckled, "I'm here to guide the lost. I give them a place to wait until it's time for them to leave.”

“Oh.” Kíli gave himself a moment to let the information sink in. "Are you - ?" He didn't know how to say it. _Are you the thing that means it's over_ , didn't sound very polite. However, Kíli couldn't summon the right word.

"Death?" Fíli finished for him, rubbing the tension from Kíli's shoulder with one hand and using the other to run his nails over Kíli's scalp. "Yes." 

Kíli considered that, body relaxing under Fíli’s gentle ministrations. He nuzzled into Fíli’s chest, receiving a kiss to his temple in response. He enjoyed it there, with Fíli. “Can I stay?”

Fíli was quiet for a minute before he sighed fondly and said, “That's up to you.”

As Kíli opened his mouth to ask another question, Fíli hushed him with a finger to Kíli’s lips. He guided Kíli down onto his pillow and tucked him in with care. In the distance, a bell tolled six times. 

“Quiet now,” Fíli whispered, “Save your questions.”

So Kíli asked nothing more from Fíli, curling around Fíli’s arm and keeping Fíli there until he floated, satisfied, into a dreamless sleep.

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _this is what happens when you watch weird tv shows ... i don't ... i don't know how to defend this_   
> 


	21. The Challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> AU - Greek Mythology, God!Fee, God!Kee, Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _80\. “That’s twice that you’ve killed me now. Shall we go for round three?”_
> 
> ≡
> 
> [2020-05-02] please check out the [GORGEOUS photoset](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/617003024677847040/and-the-prize-goes-to-amazing-marigoldvance-and) that the lovely [mysticalbarbariancreation](https://www.tumblr.com/safe-mode?url=https%3A%2F%2Fmysticalbarbariancreation.tumblr.com%2F) created for this story!

≡

Fíli roared with laughter, golden head tossed back, and slapped his knee. Across from him, Kíli looked less than pleased, staring at the board as if expecting the pieces to move and show a different outcome.

“Come now, Kíli, it’s not so bad!” Fíli smirked, lifting one of his brother’s smooth, shiny onyx pieces and squinting at its shape. “A Hydra!”

Kíli slumped, folding his arms and tucking his chin into his chest, “The Hydra did poorly last time, if you recall; against your _almighty_ hero.” He pouted, swatting the piece away when Fíli held it under his nose.

“You can’t blame me for winning the coin toss.”

“And _why_ ,” Kíli whined, “Does it always have to be a _coin toss_!?”

Fíli shook his head and spoke through a fond smile, “It is how it has always been. Now,” He waggled Kíli’s piece again before he placed it back on its square. “How to defeat a Hydra?”

“ _Fairly_.” Kíli recommended in his grumpiest tone, relaying to Fíli exactly what Kíli thought of their game.

Leaning back in his seat, Fíli examined the board, finding his Odysseus entwined with Kíli’s Cyclops, and Kíli’s Jason holding proud above his head a golden fleece. Damn – Fíli trusted his serpent to be more superior than that. Now it lay, its marble uncoiled and drained of its rosy hue, across three squares; forked tongue rolled out from between its fangs and body motionless.

“Who did you lend your cleverness to?” Fíli asked, curious as he watched the victorious onyx figure of Jason morph like clay under invisible hands into a formless piece, waiting to take the shape of Kíli’s next hero.

Kíli sounded very pleased with himself, “The sideman, Medea.”

Impressed, Fíli supplied Kíli with a wink and summoned more nectar for their cups. Fíli’s serpent had been fiercely strong but Kíli combated it with brains. It was balanced; therefore, it was honorable and would stand. Fíli vowed not to underestimate his brother’s players next time.

“Who was the Hydra for? Refresh my memory, brother.” Fíli stroked his chin, twisted the small braids that framed his clever mouth, and raised an eyebrow, his fidgeting an indication to Kíli that Fíli was, for the first time in what could have been aeons, _nervous_ of a Hydra.

Perhaps, Kíli mused, the world below lacked its pick of heroes mighty enough to endure them, Olympus’ Challenges. Due to the scarcity of extraordinary men, little men were given big titles. And perhaps that meant Fíli wasn’t so confident about the hero he’d won in the toss.

The idea (or was it the truth?) bothered Kíli for without worthy heroes in the world below, the challenges Kíli and his brother offered would dull and lose their excitement; _they_ would lose their purpose … Had the allfather taken a vow of celibacy? Why weren’t mighty men being made?

“Kíli?” Fíli coaxed Kíli’s attention away from such hopeless thoughts. “The Hydra? Who was it meant for?”

Kíli scanned the board and found, “Hercules.”

Fíli’s lips pulled into a sharp smile. “Excellent.”

“He’s already filled with great strength, Fíli, you can’t bestow him with more than he has!”

“That won’t be necessary.” Fíli insisted and rubbed his hands together, warming his power between them.

Kíli’s eyes widened in horror as Fíli conjured a sickle, leaving it where Hercules would stumble upon it on his way toward Lake Lerna where the physical beast Kíli’s onyx piece represented slumbered deep within its cave.

In response, Kíli lifted his piece and whispered, his power invoked by the movement of his lips, clouding in violet mist over the shape of the Hydra and willing two more heads to sprout from its body. Kíli placed the Hydra back on the board and reached for his cup, looking with mischievous eyes over the rim as he took a greedy swig.

Fíli wasn’t deterred, not the least bit troubled; he was confident his plan would see his hero through. Kíli was poised and assured, sitting loose on the opposite side of their board, his face slack in his sureness that his strategy would see Fíli defeated.

“Not today,” Fíli said, bringing a wind down upon the land his hero trekked, revealing the sickle in its nest of tall grass. “A few extra heads won’t win you this game.”

“Perhaps not.” Kíli agreed, his grin turning wicked a few moments later when Fíli’s hero sliced one of the monster’s heads from one of its slithering necks. “But that might.” Fíli balked as the neck jerked and spewed until another ghastly head grew from the severed stump, larger and more menacing than the first.

“Shit.”

Kíli shook with a laughter so robust the pieces on the board vibrated.

“You’re going to cause a quake, you fool, be quiet!”

“Oh, Fíli, are you worried?”

Fíli growled, “Not at all.”

He clapped and rubbed his hands again, gentler than he had before, nudging the influence of his power over a piece sitting on the perimeter of the board. His power compelled the piece toward his hero and Kíli’s beast, rousing a sense of pride in Fíli as he encouraged his hero’s sideman to march toward the challenge. Kíli shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the development.

“Is that fair?”

“You’d feel the sting of deception if it wasn’t.” Fíli said smugly, knowing he was close to another notch of conquest on his staff. “Oh, Kíli, _are you worried_?”

Kíli glowered at the board and whispered more words laced with his power, fists now clenched on the table in an effort to keep him from tossing the whole thing to the floor in tantrum. The water below the Hydra bubbled, pushed aside as a giant crab emerged beneath its feet and scuttled toward Fíli’s hero. A poor distraction, even for Kíli’s worst day. 

“Really?” Fíli said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s perfectly valid!”

Fíli threw his hands up, “I never said it wasn’t.” A faint crunching sound floated up from the square where Fíli’s hero stood and brought with it a satisfied rumble of mirth from Fíli’s chest. “Although I’ve seen better.”

The brothers watched as Kíli’s monster lost and gained more heads. In retaliation, Fíli sent the sideman a vision of fire. Kíli charged forward with fangs and poison. The clash was marvelous to behold but it couldn’t go on for the rest of time. They had other challenges to scheme and games to play. 

After many wide, agonizing strokes of the hero’s sickle, the sideman following dutifully behind with a firebrand to seal the stumps at the ends of the wriggling necks, Kíli’s Hydra was slain.

Kíli howled at his loss, falling to his knees and hammering the floor with a fist. Once he’d relieved himself of his passion, Kíli rose to his feet and begrudgingly held out his hand to Fíli. Fíli wrapped his hand around Kíli’s forearm and pulled him bodily into a tight embrace, slapping his back with joy.

“Well played, brother!”

Kíli muttered, “That’s twice that you’ve killed me now,” and rested his brow on Fíli’s shoulder while the sour taste of defeat lingered in his mouth. They remained in that position awhile more, Fíli soothing Kíli’s loss from his shoulders and neck with hearty hands. Taking a deep breath, Kíli straightened. Fíli caught a glimpse of something naughty behind the smouldering amber of Kíli’s eyes when Kíli asked, “Shall we go for round three?”

≡


	22. Anything and Everything (it's all for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britchell, M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _2\. “I would kill for you in a heartbeat.” “I know, dear.” “Please, let me kill for you.” “No, dear.” (Anders/Mitchell)_

≡

Anders craved the monster. He _needed_ it, the brutality; sharp teeth and black eyes and rough hands, pushing Anders’ face into the mattress and taking what it wanted without regard. Heartless, hard thrusts and painful bites that bled too much to save his thousand-threadcount sheets when it was over.

He could drown in those black eyes, exist on the sustenance of dark and dirty words that spilled from cold lips. There was seduction in the way Mitchell moved when he surrendered to the monster, something about it coiled in Anders’ stomach and only loosened when he came.

But there were more facets to the shape of John Mitchell, sides of the vampire that Anders didn’t fully understand. Mitchell lived like two pieces struggling to be whole and that – well, it gave him fucking whiplash most days. Bothered him whenever he came home to a messy kitchen and the smell of burnt _everything_. The tenderness Mitchell would exhibit in the days following a bestial coupling.

The monster, he knew how to handle. The man was another story entirely.

Anders couldn’t reconcile why Mitchell _tried_. He was perfectly happy to accept the monster, watch it rip the throats out of anyone who dared approach Anders in the wrong way. He’d seen it once or twice and, Jesus, it was the most erotic thing Anders had ever witnessed. Nothing fatal ~~unfortunately~~ , the men who’d cornered Anders on one of Mitchell’s _bad days_ were broken but allowed to survive.

To Anders’ dismay, the monster wasn’t always _available_. Instead, more often than not, Anders had to tolerate cups of lukewarm tea and bright doe-eyes pleading to do something _human_ – “Let’s go to the zoo!” – “Christmas is a time for _family_ , come on!” – “We should get a cat.” ‘ _We_ ’ should absolutely fucking not!

Thankfully, Anders had won that argument.

After weeks, months, of experiencing Mitchell’s humanity, Anders wondered if Mitchell _would_ kill for him. Would tear someone apart for laying hands on Anders. The thought was hot, turned Anders on and made his cock flush and wet for it; that someone would _defend his honor_ in that way. Apparently, according to Mitchell who paced the area of Anders’ office like a caged animal, Mitchell _would_.

“I would kill for you in a heartbeat,” Mitchell swore as if reading Anders’ mind. He’d stopped moving, standing and commanding Anders’ attention, obviously wanting his promise to _mean something_. No black eyes, no descended fangs. Just _Mitchell_.

Human Mitchell, Anders thought, was less likely to keep that promise even if he meant every syllable when he said it.

“I know, dear.” Anders said dismissively, holding his glass against the bump swelling on his temple, already an angry red. It felt good, sweating a soothing coolness into the feverish skin, the whiskey in it doing wonders for his battered confidence whenever he took a sip. Most of the ice had melted now, diluting the alcohol, but it was still smoky and sharp, and Anders’ appreciated its effect.

Mitchell prowled up to him, dropping into a crouch and taking Anders’ wrist in tight fingers. He pulled Anders’ hand away from his injury – one of a few and thankfully the worst of them – and removed the glass, setting it on the floor. He replaced the glass with the back of his chilly hand, shifting until he caught Anders’ eyes.

“Please.” He said, tone hard. “Let me kill for you.”

Confusion stirred beneath all the feelings Anders was making great efforts to tamp down. He was flattered, of course, and, not five seconds ago he’d concluded that he’d leap at the chance to see Mitchell vamp-out, go nuts on whoever Anders’ thought (reasonably) the world could do without. But now? Now it was the Goddesses who’d shot arrows and whacked him with a baseball bat to leave him unconscious in the woods. Not a _Silence of the Lambs_ psychopath who needed some disciplining by a bloodthirsty _Child of the Night_. Yes, they were cunts, but they didn’t deserve to _die_ , deliberately and without consideration.

Mitchell was shit at picking his battles.

Anders sighed, resigned, “No, dear.”

Mitchell slumped and swung himself onto the couch beside Anders, head rested on the backrest and arms falling slack at his sides, legs spread with one foot on top of the other. He looked hopeless. Someone who was searching for the right way to say something and failing.

Anders watched him for a moment before reaching for the glass on the floor and taking a swig.

“They tried to kill your brother.” Anders felt Mitchell tense. “They _hurt you_.”

There was something in Mitchell’s inflection that said more than what he was saying, and it left Anders reaching for answers, pulling the words apart and trying to see what was behind them, between them. He was the vessel of the God of _Stringing Fucking Words Together_ yet there he was, missing the point.

“They do that every week, John, I can handle it.”

Mitchell sat up suddenly and grabbed Anders by the chin, forcing Anders to look at him. “ _I_ can’t. I’m not built for this.” He gritted out, “I’m not _made_ to care.”

_Christ_.

The pieces of the puzzle started clicking into place. Anders wasn’t accustomed to people doing things for him without some _persuasion_. Of their own volition. Except that one girl, Tracy, who’d done That Thing with her tongue –

Mitchell suffered his humanity for Anders; he suffered the monster _for Anders_. He made shitty food and swallowed Anders’ blood and fucked Anders raw and encouraged Anders to visit his brothers once in awhile without God business looming _for Anders_.

Anders sat, stunned, as he tumbled into epiphany. Mitchell couldn’t distinguish the difference between assholes in a parking lot, serial killers and Goddesses anymore than he could the difference between Cocoa Puffs and Cocoa Pops. They were all the same. Dicks who hurt Anders.

And that _human_ teko: Horribly, cringingly, awfully also for Anders’ benefit. Mitchell was two unglued parts of a whole who made a fucking effort to find balance because he lo— … _cared_ about Anders. Which went against every vampiric instinct Mitchell had. Anders knew that for a fact after getting Mitchell blood-drunk on too many bags he’d had Michelle steal for him (which, right there, a reason Anders couldn’t support Mitchell’s sudden desire to go _Vlad the Impaler_ on her even if it _was_ such a tantalizing idea. The bitch kept Mitchell in blood). Mitchell had divulged a lot of information that night, some of it resulting in nightmares Anders would never be able to shake, no matter how much therapy he paid for.

Mitchell’s long fingers scraped through Anders’ hair, relaxing Anders and lulling him into a state of innocent bliss. “But you would kill for me?” He hummed, staring at Mitchell through hooded eyes.

“If you asked me to.”

“You need my permission?” Anders already knew the answer. He’d figured it out minutes ago. Still, he wanted to hear it.

“Yeah.” _Because I give a shite_ , Mitchell didn’t need to say.

Anders was uncomfortable, squirming under the insinuation of Mitchell’s confession. He tried to glance away but Mitchell held firm, fingers continuing to make magic on Anders’ scalp. Held there, under the spell of Mitchell’s gentle ministrations, Anders was tempted to make a confession of his own; was partially, unsteadily committed to doing so:

“You’re fucking impossible.” Anders said, his smile casting dimples.

Mitchell’s mouth spread into sunshine, “And you’re fucking awful.”

It didn't matter, Anders realized, that he couldn't say what he meant because, monster or human, Mitchell understood.

≡


	23. Of Thoughts and Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britchell, G
> 
> Gift Giving, Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _37\. It’s Character A’s birthday. Character B is stressed because he cannot find the perfect gift._

≡

Anders wasn’t one for gift-giving. Not the from-the-heart, _I genuinely give a shit about you_ variety of gift-giving, anyway.

Thoughtless expressions of _thanks for last night_ or obvious bribery, Anders could manage. Or Anders could convince Dawn to manage. Bouquets and truffle chocolates and lacy panties to replace the pair Anders ruined in the heat of the moment. Expensive wines. Gift cards if he really couldn’t remember anything about _what’s her name_ – everyone likes Amazon or a day at the spa (“Bronze package, Dawnie, she wasn’t _that_ flexible, come on.”).

Growing up, positive role models had been scarce – fuck you, Mike – and the warm, coddly environment Anders’ classmates were raised in was non-existent at home. His mother had been a broken thing, her mind always on her wayward husband whose god made him a total dick. And his father … **_whell_** … Ander’s father hadn’t been the type to show up on birthdays or holidays (he hadn’t been the type to show up at all after a certain point) with smiles and affection and armfuls of whatever trendy plaything his boys had pined after.

So proper displays of _I appreciate you_? Anders was completely asea with no hope of finding land. It was too intimate, too special. He’d never before had to _consider_ what he was doing and who he was doing it for. He was comfortable offering his dick wrapped in a bow (had done that once or twice when a fling happened to coincide with a special occasion), making reservations at a posh restaurant and ordering _whatever you want, my treat_ with a smile that promised a rumpled and boneless morning-after.

Mitchell was, Anders begrudged, _special_. He was floppy and kind and awkward; more like the vampires in _What We Do In The Shadows_ than the monster Mitchell always damned himself of being. Mitchell preferred ‘the little things’. Sweet whispers of poetry in his ear during do-nothing moments; arms laced around his middle and Anders’ head between his shoulder blades when Mitchell fixed tea; stupid, mundane bullshit that Anders had only ever seen exhibited in romantic comedies because heart-eyes and goofy smiles were _everything_.

And, Christ, Anders found that he actually, honest to God, wanted to do that for Mitchell. Wanted to be the guy who swept Mitchell off his cold, corpsy feet with small shows of all the _whatever_ Anders’ heart swelled with whenever he looked at Mitchell’s dumb puppy-face.

Nothing. There had been _nothing_ when Anders had scoured the shops, top to bottom, for something that spoke to him about what Mitchell meant to Anders. Fuck all.

When Anders had gloomed to Dawn about the situation-turned-fiasco of his futile search for the perfect gift (and, at that point, with two hours before he had to make it home, he’d been willing to downgrade to ‘the decent, subpar, mediocre gift’), Dawn had made a careful suggestion that – and shit on his grave if Anders ever admitted this – _made sense_. Well, had made sense in the context of Mitchell. 

“Why not do something for him instead? It’s the thought that counts.”

Dawn was brilliant in that simple, unobtrusive way of hers. It had clicked not seconds later, what Anders had to do. In a flurry of compliments and a kiss on the cheek, Anders had bounded out the door (“It’s not even three o’clock yet, Anders, what about the—?”), made a few stops and flew into his apartment to get started.

Anders had pulled untarnished ceramic bowls from cupboards he rarely opened, had chopped and diced vegetables on an unmarred cutting board, had set the table with shiny silverware and glasses he’d never bothered with but _had_ because they gave the kitchen the illusion of being used for more than storage for bottles of hard liquor.

Of course, just because Anders didn’t spend hours frolicking around the kitchen didn’t mean that he was a shit cook. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Anders could cook better than most line cooks at middle-star restaurants. He knew how to crackle salmon and mix marinade for the perfect steak, which spices complimented each other on chicken, how to ensure basic vegetables tasted like ambrosia. Yeah, Anders had a few hidden talents and he was willing and ready to offer one to his undead boy— his undead more-than-a-fuck-friend for said more-than-a-fuck-friend’s four-hundredth birthday (or however old Mitchell was turning).

Now, an hour later, showered and clean, the air thick with the aromas of Anders’ surprise, Anders waited for Mitchell to arrive home.

He wasn’t nervous. Clammy hands and a quick heart were the result of flying around his apartment in preparation. When Anders heard the light clomp of boots in the stairwell and then the snick of the lock turning, heralding Mitchell’s arrival, Anders _did not_ swallow a lump that formed in his throat. He was thirsty, not having had the opportunity to take a sip of anything since the office.

Shit. He needed wine.

It was too late to move. Mitchell caught him leaning stiffly against the back of the couch when Anders meant to go for casual. Raising a curious brow, Mitchell stepped further into the apartment then stopped abruptly, eyes going dinner-plate wide and mouth falling open. Anders knew Mitchell was shocked by the smell that had taken over the entire space.

“I thought that was the neighbors.” Mitchell said through a wide smile. “What’s go—?”

Anders interrupted, wanting to get the awkwardness out of the way, “Happy birthday.”

Mitchell sucked in a sharp breath and cocked his head as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard Anders correctly. Anders groaned and looked at the ceiling before returning his gaze to Mitchell who stood still as the stiff he was.

“You … cooked me supper?”

Anders wasn’t sure what to make of the question, Mitchell’s tone gave no indication of how he felt about Anders’ effort. Anders responded the best way he knew how: Defensively.

“Look. If you don’t like it, do your own thing. But it’s there and I can guarantee it’s delicious, so you’d be mis—” He was forced to swallow his words along with a tongue that was suddenly thrust into his mouth. The kiss was thorough and deep, and Anders couldn’t cork the moan that rose from his chest despite the lack of heat.

When Mitchell pulled away, hands cupping Anders’ jaw and thumbs stroking Anders’ dimples, he was grinning. Broader and brighter than Anders had ever seen. His eyes sparkled below his thick curtain of lashes and, if Anders wasn’t nose-to-nose with him, he’d accuse Mitchell of crying like some cougar who came home to a surprise party.

Mitchell wasn’t tearing up; he was just _that_ _happy_. If he looked any closer, Anders could likely distinguish every emotion he saw whirling in Mitchell’s eyes. He wouldn't, he wasn't a lovesick teenager, but he _could_ if he wanted to.

“Thank you,” Mitchell breathed, brushing his lips against Anders’ in an echo of the kiss they’d just shared.

Anders itched under his skin, but he forced himself to stay still, “Yeah, well. You deserve it.” He cleared his throat, “And it’s not like I spent a fortune, alright? It’s nothing fancy. Do you know how hard it is to find something for someone who’s lived as long as you have? Fucking _impossible_ —”

“It’s perfect, Anders.”

Anders could see that Mitchell really meant that. Anders' effort wasn’t a monumental confession, it wasn’t done to impress; it was simple and honest and, apparently, that was all Anders needed to show Mitchell _exactly_ what Anders wasn’t comfortable even thinking about. And if it was good enough for Mitchell, it was good enough for him.

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to BoyVance who braved the fucking Canadian Cold to get ingredients for the nachos he knew would make me feel just a little bit better after the shitstorm of a month February has already decided to be.  
> 💗💗💗  
> 


	24. Celestial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> Alternate Universe - Mythos, Not Related(?), Tolkien Lore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Aliada
> 
> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _19\. "Tell him that I miss him…” They have been cursed, and can’t see or hear each other._
> 
> this leans heavily on Tolkien lore (how the world began). the most important thing to know, if you aren't familiar with the folklore, is that **the Ainur are the offspring of Ilúvatar's thoughts**.

≡

Before time began, they were born; pulled thin and eerie, overlapped and wisping as a low fog clung to the surface of the world. They offered what they could, dim lights – like dust reflecting gold and silver – glowed for the earliest creatures who scuttled into and from deep fissures in the earth.

And then the First Beginning, Ilúvatar, turned his omniscient gaze upon them and kindled celestial thoughts.

A melody cascaded from above, lilted and sighing through the air and into the ground, molding the world into new shapes. They were gathered up and moved to either side of the arced cusp of eternity, each stood tall and magnificent in towers built splendorous by the hands of Ilúvatar’s thoughts.

One light beamed fierce white and wore a corona of gold. The earth that stretched ahead and behind the foot of his tower was bright and awake. The second, ethereal silver, bloomed quieter from his peak, the earth he touched nebulous and restful.

They were revered and worshiped for the symmetry of their lights as, together, they offered much to the cultivation of the world spread between them. In thanks, the thoughts gifted them names:

Ormal and Illuin. Sun and Moon. _Fíli and Kíli_. 

Satisfied with his melody and how his thoughts sang to it – each note a vision Ilúvatar bestowed behind their eyes – Ilúvatar turned his gaze away and returned himself to the Timeless Halls from whence he came.

At the heart of the world that became known as Arda, Fíli and Kíli’s sway was strongest, for that is where they met, and the world flourished. There, one thought hammered and fashioned the fabric of the world, lifting mountains and stomping valleys. Another reared the rich colors of life – flowers and fruits and all manner of things. A third rose vapors from the water to the sky, spindling the fluff into clouds; he breathed winds and whistled breezes that gave the world movement.

And throughout this making, Fíli and Kíli embraced and raveled in the center of Arda where all the thoughts celebrated their deep, immortal love for one another.

All except one, a thought who called himself Melkor.

Jealous of their influence and all it could create, Melkor used his claws to cleave through the tendrils of the melody that kept Arda whole and tore Fíli and Kíli from their towers. In the storm of his fury, Melkor’s brother- and sister-thoughts fled to a corner of the world that had escaped his corruption and, weakened by the discord, they fell into slumber, allowing Melkor the freedom to reconstruct the world to his vision.

Unable to destroy Fíli and Kíli, as the harmony – the balance – they brought to the world was necessary, Melkor cursed them instead. Time rippled outward from the source of Melkor’s destruction. Each crease crashed through them and rendered them changed.

First, they were dismantled, siphoned and fed to two barren orbs which hung above the veil that encompassed Arda. Then, they were separated, flung a great distance to opposite ends, and bound from their bones by mithril threads strung into the dead rock of the orbs. Last, Melkor divided time into segments and forced the two orbs to sail over and under Arda in _hours_. Their lights would never meet, never share the sky; when one was awake the other would sleep. They would chase each other’s tails in endless cycles, one after the other after the other, until time ended. 

Under the impression of Fíli’s pilfered light, Melkor gave the world Day, and under Kíli’s, Night. Though unwound from each other, balance was retained and Arda continued.

On Fíli’s first day, he raged volcanoes and scorched deserts. On Kíli’s first night, he wept oceans, salty and as tumultuous as his heart. On Kíli’s second night, he witnessed the glory of Fíli’s volcanoes and conjured lightening to strike a message into the igneous rock for Fíli to find when he woke. On Fíli’s second day, he saw Kíli’s message and shaped one of his own in constellations above the shore of one of Kíli’s oceans.

Years became centuries became millennia but Fíli and Kíli’s love for each other never diminished. Fíli continued to create things he knew would bring a smile to Kíli’s face: Owls for company, fireflies made from speckles of Fíli’s warm light, crickets to sing to Kíli of how much Fíli missed him. Kíli did the same for Fíli: Crafted birds for a dawn chorus to welcome Fíli to the sky; seafoam crests on the curls of his waves to dance for Fíli’s entertainment. Whenever they could – something new. Something to say, “ _Tell him that I miss him…_ ”

Though their love never waned, Melkor’s patience did. He soldered dark, ugly creatures of his own to waste those of Fíli and Kíli. Filled the world with hellfire and boiling water, broke mountains and scorched lands. Fíli and Kíli left more resilient messages for one another in answer. Finally, in desperation, Melkor cumulated smog and toxic gases to rise and smother the sky, stinging Fíli and Kíli’s eyes and hiding the world below so they could not look upon it.

The stink of Melkor’s poison traveled far and wide and every direction outward, seeping through the veil around Arda and eventually wafting into the Timeless Halls where Ilúvatar rested. At last, Ilúvatar returned his gaze to Arda and witnessed the pain and corruption Melkor’s jealousy had wrought. The world he’d loved and left in the trustworthy hands of his thoughts was in ruin. Ilúvatar discovered his thoughts asleep under a blanket of snow and ash and roused them so they would battle their brother and remake the symmetry of Arda.

There was war.

From their prison in the heavens, unable to see, Fíli and Kíli could do nothing to help but they could _hear_. Animals turning and tearing each other apart, devouring each other, when once there had been harmony. Illness and death rotted forests. Insects spawned great numbers and swept across Arda, eating and spreading disease.

Kíli wailed and the tides grew massive, dousing Melkor’s fire. Fíli roared and swelled great sandstorms, burying the rabid animals and swarms of insects.

Able to walk the landscape more easily, Melkor’s brother- and sister-thoughts discovered him at the center of Arda, surrounded by storms. Together, uniting their power, they beat against him thunder and blizzards and the good essence of Arda and defeated him, capturing his black soul and binding it for Ilúvatar to do away with. Ilúvatar set it between faraway stars where it could never hope to find its way back.

Banishing the gases and cleaning the skies, the thoughts saw the cruelty that Melkor had performed upon Fíli and Kíli. They appealed to Ilúvatar, asked him to free the lights. Ilúvatar could not. Fíli and Kíli were bound by corrupted power, sick and imperishable. Their light had to remain above Arda. However, feeling the depth and strength of their love for one another, Ilúvatar offered them a chance.

“Relinquish your immortal light, allow your souls to be reborn, and I shall ensure they are together for all the years they exist in Arda.” 

Fíli and Kíli agreed without hesitation, yearning to be together for as long as Ilúvatar granted them.

And so it was done.

∞

“Fíli,” Dís smiled, cradling the tiniest dwarf, pink and squishy, Fíli had ever seen. He crawled onto the bed without his mother’s permission, though she didn’t seem to mind. Fíli looked at her and then, with awe, at the bundle she held. “I’d like you to meet your brother, Ki—”

As she spoke, so did he, in reverence whispering, “ _Kíli_.”

≡


	25. Frostfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, T
> 
> Alternate Universe - Dragons, Shapeshifters, dragon!Fee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _74\. One of them is a dragon that can take human form._

≡

Kíli sobbed, face pressed into rough scale, hardly noticing as the massive form beneath his hands began to quiver. Scales flaked away and bones cracked and splintered under stretches of leathery hide. Kíli’s palms burned as the gold light simmered then brightened then _burst_ , consuming the creature completely as the light kindled the transformation. An uncomfortable shift Kíli had witnessed many times before.

If he could absorb the pain, he would do so in a heartbeat.

When the light dissipated, sparks flittering to the ground where they died like unstoked embers, Kíli’s hands slipped over the familiar dips and rises of muscle more like his own. He was careful not to jostle or grip too tightly, conscious of the lashes that licked across the cream-white landscape of the body that now lay in his lap.

Dragon or dwarf, Kíli didn’t care, he needed his brother to _breathe_.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and fell onto Fíli’s lips. “Please, _please_ wake up.”

Damn poachers. Caped in the king’s colors, wielding wyvern steel, they paraded around like _heroes_ ; declared their worth in dragon teeth and spun tales of their triumphs in slaughter. And Kíli was sworn to secrecy; had recited the vows and been baptized with wax and went through the rites as Draconic Law demanded. The Synod themselves had given him the sacrament with their own hands.

Kíli was forbidden from sharing the truth, no matter how many lives it could save.

“Fíli. _Please_.”

His brother hadn’t always been this way, hadn’t always caged a Dragonspark behind his ribs. Kíli had revered Fíli long before Fíli was given the gift. Kíli had worshipped Fíli’s gold and fire since the day he was born. Now it was less metaphorical and more literal and Kíli hated it because it meant _this_ : Meant Fíli risked himself whenever he shifted for Kíli’s sake.

Kíli knew Fíli wouldn’t blame him, not for anything, but Kíli felt the dense sick of guilt in his stomach all the same.

Balls of fire in the sky, deliberately slung, had made long orange arcs before crashing to the valley below. Rampaging flame had swallowed everything in its path, blazing toward where they’d made camp. When Kíli had looked up it was to see another ball of fire hurtling down upon them. And then there was Fíli, broad wings and back thwarting the strike, his massive body shielding Kíli from the castoff as it exploded against Fíli’s impervious scales.

Perhaps there hadn’t been another alternative or perhaps that was their plan: Lure Fíli, use Kíli as bait and force Fíli to shed his dwarf skin for something magnificent (those bastards with their royal seals lending them their _right_ to butcher what they don’t understand). Kíli will never know but, Mahal, it didn’t matter unless Fíli _woke up_.

“I can’t lose you, Fee … ”

Kíli bent forward, placing his brow on Fíli’s at an awkward angle. One hand cradled the back of Fíli’s head while the other was pressed firmly over Fíli’s faintly beating heart – it was enough to give Kíli hope. Fíli’s breath was shallow, the welts in his stomach healing so slowly Kíli wasn’t sure the skin would stitch itself together before Fíli bled out.

They’d been so careful. Fíli never revealed himself to anyone except Kíli, he never used his gift for his own greed or gain. He lived most of his days humbly as a dwarf. Provided for their mother, taught Kíli how to track and hunt, assisted their uncle at his forge.

The only exception, aside from the one that put him _here_ , fading in Kíli’s arms in the charred aftermath of an attack that shouldn’t have been, was three winters ago when he and Kíli lost themselves in a blizzard. They’d found respite in a cave some ways up the foot of a small mountain but, without a fire, Kíli would have frozen to death. Fíli’s Dragonspark kept his temperature high above normal, but it hadn’t been enough to warm Kíli who was blue-lipped and delirious by the time Fíli decided to light a fire using his breath.

Fíli … forever ensuring Kíli was safe, unharmed, happy …

Kíli would never be those things again if Fíli didn’t _open his eyes_.

His voice cracked as he confessed into the eerie silence around them, “I love you. More than anything. Dragon or dwarf or whatever you decide to accept, Fíli, I’m yours.”

A deep, labored gasp brought Kíli back from the brink of despair. Fíli sucked in several more forceful breaths before struggling his way to sitting. He felt the gash on his stomach, pushed his fingers into it and winced. Without preamble, Kíli grabbed Fíli by the shoulders and brought Fíli to rest against his chest. Propping his chin in Fíli’s tangled hair and cupping Fíli’s neck and the back of his head, Kíli choked back his sobs, trembling as the relief rushed through him like a tempest.

Fíli let Kíli hold him as long as he needed to.

When Kíli finally released him, Fíli twisted himself so he could better see Kíli. He lifted his hands, muscles in his arms stiff from the transformation as well as the abuse they’d incurred, and held Kíli’s face, stroking away the moisture under Kíli’s eyes with his wide thumbs.

“You came back to me.” Kíli murmured, as if raising his voice any louder would shatter Fíli into a million pieces.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy.” Fíli reassured, his smile tense from the pain of his wounds yet enough that Kíli believed him.

“Did you kill them all?”

Fíli hesitated, dipped his chin, ashamed, and then nodded. “Yes.”

“For me?”

Fíli nodded again.

“I’m so sorry, Fee.”

At that, Fíli’s head shot up. He clutched the hair at Kíli’s nape harder than he intended, yanking Kíli’s head back until their gazes were fixed.

“I would burn the world to cinders for you, Kíli. Don’t you ever doubt that.”

Kíli didn’t. And that thrilled and scared him in equal measure. Because Kíli was aware of the influence he had, the control he wielded, over one of Arda’s most powerful creatures.

Without forethought, Kíli crashed their mouths together, lips catching and pulling as they moved in a pulsing rhythm. There was an inferno between them, heart and soul, that threatened to devour them wholly, and Kíli embraced it as he embraced his brother. Kíli toppled backwards, Fíli landed on top of him, snugly fit between Kíli’s thighs. They kissed fiercely, pulling away and snapping back together, tongues slick-sliding and teeth biting delicate skin hard enough to bruise.

Fíli rolled his hips forward in rippling movements, burying his face in the crook of Kíli’s neck and shoulder to revel in his soot-salty scent; licked a wet stripe from collar to the sensitive skin beneath Kíli’s ear, moaning as he savored the smoky taste.

It was heat, passion, intensity. Hotter than dragon’s breath, brighter than sunfire, stronger than tooth or claw or scale.

It was the reason Kíli would never abuse his sway over Fíli. 

It was love.

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _i feel like i should explore this Dragonspark 'verse further in the future ..._  
> 


	26. Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, T
> 
> Alternate Universe - Dragons, Shapeshifters, dragon!Fee, Kidnapping, (ragefire)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts)
> 
> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _165\. Person A goes on a quest to see/capture an Oracle. The Oracle wants nothing to do with these shenanigans._
> 
> **an accompaniment to the previous chapter**  
> 

≡

Kíli coughed, spat blood to the dirty floor and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before he returned his dark mood to the back of the coachman’s head. The elf wore the colors of King Thranduil who had the reputation of being as ethereal as he was ruthless. Kíli had already witnessed what Thranduil would do to extirpate the existence of dragons – born or gifted – from Arda.

Which is what made Thranduil’s interest in Kíli worse than the mindless slaughter of dragons.

It was foul and sick and Kíli wheezed as he suffered another breath, urging his heart to slow to its regular rhythm. He couldn’t risk losing himself to panic. Not when Fíli was out there, alone and possibly just now realizing Kíli wasn’t coming back with the meal he’d set out to snare.

“Quit your noise-making, dwarf.” The coachman said. His voice was moondance and summer wind, the face it fell from beautiful, and it made Kíli nauseous to know that beneath his beauty, the elf was rotted by his king’s hatred. “We have far to go and I am not interested in going mad from the sound of your hacking.”

Kíli’s brow dropped further, shadowing his eyes and deepening the lines of his anger.

“Taking me won’t gain you what you want.” He growled, shuddering from the effort of suppressing another fit of coughs.

The coachman sneered, “You may think your brother is as smart as you believe him to be, and that is your choice. But make no mistake, a dragon always comes for what is his. And for this, our king’s desire will be met.”

“He won’t.” Kíli contended firmly despite his waning confidence. Hazarding a glimpse around him, through the bars of the cage he’d been wrestled into, he saw rows of armored elves flanking the wagon. As if Kíli required the intimidation and extra muscle of two dozen or more poachers – but it wasn’t Kíli they were there to secure, was it? No. It was Fíli.

Kíli was merely the lure.

And what was worse, Kíli knew their plan would work. 

**Ξ∆Ξ**

Long ago, in Arda’s earliest age, before the world took its final shape, there were dragons. They were born, lived and faded in all places from seas to skies to the belly of the earth itself. Mighty creatures free of fear; their scales impervious to all but another dragon’s tooth and claw, and their flame so powerful, not even granite could withstand its heat. A dragon’s roar could flatten trees, its wings could churn fierce windstorms.

Ferocity, however, came with a price: Dragons ruled everything with force and demanded submission, and if they did not receive it, blood and death would follow. The ritual and act of mating was as dangerous and violent as most aspects of a dragon’s being and would rarely result in offspring. Thus, over time, their numbers dwindled, and, in their stead, new races rose: Elves and dwarves, orcs and magic-wielders, though none could compare to the power of dragons, revered by all who witnessed them.

In the grip of an imbalanced war, the elves pursued the dragons’ power, seeking to harness and use it to tip the scale in their favor. As all great predators, dragons were neither benevolent nor malevolent, driven merely by instinct, and so the clever elves were able to manipulate their magic to command the dragons’ strength; they learned to impose themselves on the dragons’ minds and hearts and seize control.

Still and all, feral as they were, a dragon’s mind was not weak, and most elves succumbed to its sway when they lingered too long within its untameable inferno, bended by the glory of insurmountable power. Unable to overcome, their consciousness was consumed, and they were forever trapped in the body of the beast.

Then, in the face of those defeats, Oracles were made. Those of pure heart and intent who could pull the elves back from the brink and untangle the frenzy of two minds through a natural magic of their own, restoring the elves to themselves. It was through a connection, an unwavering, unbreakable link – through _love_ , that an Oracle came to posses this ability. However, the connection was as rare as a dragon clutch and very few elves were saved.

And so it was that Oracles came to hold all the power.

**Ξ∆Ξ**

Kíli refused the food his guard thrust through the bars at him. He crossed his arms and brought his knees up, staring away into the blackness of the forest at night.

“Eat, dwarf.” The guard ordered through his teeth. Kíli shifted away. “It does not matter if you starve to death. Your scent will yet lead him to us.” The guard’s mouth twisted downward when he threatened, “If my king had not made clear that you were not to be harmed – ”

“And why is that?” Kíli snapped, eyes flashing. He knew why, he’d figured it out before they’d made camp; before he’d confirmed that it was Fíli they wanted. Kíli kicked at the bars just below where the guard had stuck his arm through to wave the small portion of waybread at Kíli.

The guard snatched his arm back and snarled, “I hope he burns the flesh from your bones!”

“And then where would you be, _hm_?” There was no arrogance in what Kíli said despite it being the truth. They couldn’t kill him, not if they wanted Fíli for more than his hide.

Fíli was like the Jewels of Fëanor, coveted and wonderous and rare, his breed scarce even in the age when dragons held dominion over all Arda. He was gold light and crimson flame and his spark could heal fatal wounds. But it could also raze cities into cinder and memory if he called upon its chaos. That kind of power required Fíli to plunge deeper into the dragon’s mind than he’d ever been, so deep Kíli worried Fíli wouldn’t wend his way back, not even for Kíli’s sake.

Kíli whimpered and curled into himself, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. He didn’t want to admit —

He was afraid.

**Ξ∆Ξ**

The elves were unsurprisingly equipped with all manor of weapons forged from wyvern steel: Armor, spears, giant arrows loaded into ballistae, and fragment canisters that, if heated, exploded into a rainstorm of sharp metal. An arsenal so vast one would assume they were going to war with a hundred dragons.

The canisters made cold fear sting through Kíli’s veins. They were what had struck Fíli from the sky only weeks before. What had left lashmarks all over Fíli’s body; what had pierced Fíli’s stomach and made his quick healing slow as his body tried to reject the metal chips.

Kíli wondered if those now dead elves had had the same orders or if things had changed when Thranduil somehow discovered Fíli had lived through the attack. Whatever had convinced Thranduil he needed Fíli _alive_ worked in Fíli and Kíli’s favor. The elves just hadn’t realized it yet.

Kíli had only seen the weapons used for massacre and knew the elves had prepared them in precaution. To the right of the camp, Kíli saw a group unfolding a massive net woven with serpent skin ensuring it was flame retardant. Another small band were sharpening the teeth of dragon-catchers. Kíli had seen dragon-catchers used once before when he and Fíli escaped a raid. Kíli swallowed thickly, sniffing, as he remembered their friend, Bard, stretching and growing and releasing a roar so immense it had sent a tidal wave crashing over the shore.

Bard had been snared by three dragon-catchers, looped and sprung around his wide legs. Their teeth bit between the divots of his dense skin and sunk into the bone. Bard had wailed and launched a torrent of pressurized murky blue water from his throat. His retaliation had given Fíli and Kíli time to sweep up Bard’s three children and escape. Kíli hadn’t seen Bard since that day and he didn’t believe he ever would again.

All movement ceased around Kíli and a hush fell over the elves. Kíli strained to listen and when he glanced up, he could see an ominous orange glow in the distant sky that seemed to move and grow. The fear that had gripped Kíli melted away. He felt the thunder of Fíli’s approach before he appeared, glorious and terrifying, scales glinting gold as he swept the skies and breathed destruction down upon the elves. Kíli squinted, hand shielding his eyes from the blazing light of Fíli’s fire. The blue Fíli’s eyes normally maintained, a sign he was still in charge of himself, was completely consumed by dragon-yellow. 

Fíli’s rage would not be stopped.

**Ξ∆Ξ**

Crimson flame pealed through the camp, swelling as it spread and ate everything in its path. The elves hadn’t counted on Fíli’s flame being immune to water and soil, yelling useless commands at one another to smother the fire when Kíli knew it had to be left to burn itself out.

Fíli wasn’t striking in the deliberate manner Kíli was familiar with, wild and wrathful in his pursuit to retrieve Kíli. His fire was creeping closer to where Kíli was trapped in the cage, the air shimmering from the sweltering heat. Wiping the gathering sweat off his brow, Kíli set to work. He stuck his foot between the bars and tripped a passing elf, snagging the dagger from the elf’s waist and using the tip of the blade to pick the lock of the cage and free himself. He clambered out of the way with barely an inch to spare, avoiding another strike of Fíli’s flame as it divided the ground, putting a wall between Kíli and most of the elves.

The elves’ attention was fixed on launching the net, not on Kíli but, nevertheless, Kíli appreciated Fíli’s determination to protect him. Fíli let loose a skull-splitting roar, causing Kíli to lose his footing for a moment before he was able to run past the treeline and find a safer place away from the carnage. As much as he yearned to help, there was no place for him under a dragon’s feet.

And then Kíli felt the sharp edge of a blade pinch the vulnerable juncture of his neck and jaw. He was guided to his feet and manoeuvred back into the mayhem. The elf held Kíli securely as he positioned them where Fíli was sure to see them.

“Settle yourself, beast!!” The elf bellowed over the howls of flame and wounded comrades. Many of the elves were either crawling away from the camp or charred and cooked in their armor. There remained only a handful brave enough to follow through with their spiralling plan. “I will not hesitate to slice your brother open from ear to ear!!”

Fíli roared again, wings beating hurricane winds down upon them to fan his fire away as it billowed and bulged nearer and nearer.

“Fíli don’t!” Kíli shouted, choking as the elf dug the blade further into his throat.

Something happened then, a twist of luck – good or bad, Kíli couldn’t figure out. One of the few elves who still stood launched a fragment canister. Unfortunately, his aim was poor through the smoke. In a lazy crest, the canister plummeted to the earth and landed behind the elf restraining Kíli, exploding its metal pieces everywhichway. The elf was pushed forward from the shock of the blast, taking Kíli with him.

Hot stone and ground-rubble hit Kíli with force, knocking the wind from his lungs and his body through the air. He felt himself land, pain shooting through his right side in burning waves, bones fractured and skin torn. He screamed until his body couldn’t bear the strangling agony and began to numb from oversensation. Sound ebbed and sight bled into blankness as his labored breathing slowed and he surrendered to unconsciousness.

**Ξ∆Ξ**

The putrid stench of singed flesh and hair was the first thing to assault him as Kíli groaned awake. He throbbed mildly throughout, and his vision was smoky at the corners but otherwise he felt –

_Fíli._

When Kíli opened his eyes, he could see he was drenched in blood. Not his own, not the elf’s who had tried to use Kíli to bargain with. It was clear to Kíli why the torture of pain was little more than an ache under his skin.

Fíli had spilled his blood for Kíli, bathed Kíli in its magic ensuring that Kíli would heal. Lifting himself stiffly onto his elbows and looking around, Kíli saw that he was no longer in the uproar of the camp; he’d been moved to higher ground. Thick black smoke billowed up from below where the forest (and the elven poachers) burned.

Behind him, Kíli heard a pained whine and the scratch of clawtips against stone. Slowly, sorely, he turned himself in the direction of the sound. Fíli was curled inward as if trying to make himself small, and the expression on his scaly face was distressed and fearful. Fíli whined again, bringing his large snout to Kíli and sniffing the air in front of him, nudging his chest as gently as was possible for a dragon. Kíli could see his eyes were once again blue but still held a ring of yellow around the irises.

Kíli raised a hand and rested it against his brother’s nose, smoothing it up and down.

“I’m alright, Fee,” He assured, rising onto his knees and wrapping his arms around Fíli’s snout, pressing his face against the softer scales around Fíli’s mouth. “I’m alright.”

Fíli puffed out a hot breath and nuzzled into Kíli’s embrace.

“Come back to me now, Fee. You’ve done it. I’m safe.” Kíli said, “I need you to come back.”

The spark of transformation was ignited by a kiss Kíli brushed sweetly between Fíli’s nostrils. When it was complete, Fíli collapsed into Kíli’s arms, buckling them both to the ground. Fíli squeezed Kíli as close as he could get him, hands traveling Kíli’s shoulders, back, sides, anywhere they could reach without letting Kíli go as Fíli checked him over.

“I’m alright,” Kíli repeated, leaning back to catch Fíli’s eye. Seas of blue encompassed by thin rings of sunlight. _It had been too close_. Kíli cupped Fíli’s jaw and forced his brother to look at him. “I’m alright, Fee.”

Fíli choked, “I can’t – ” and shook, giving up halfway through and dropping his head to Kíli’s shoulder. His fingers were tight in Kíli’s hair, his breath harsh against the exposed skin of Kíli’s neck. 

“I know.”

Kíli rearranged them so they lay flat, Kíli on his back and Fíli long and warm and _himself_ against Kíli’s side. A gash, ugly and jagged, ran from Fíli’s wrist to his elbow. Kíli followed the length of it with a feathery fingertip, his heart tight as the thought of Fíli doing this to himself to save Kíli’s life haunted him.

Kíli whispered, afraid someone unwanted might hear him though, rationally, he knew they were alone. “Thranduil wants this, Fee.”

He felt Fíli nod.

“We can’t – what are we going to do?”

Fíli moved until his lips hovered over Kíli’s, “First, we rest.” He said, dropping a tender kiss to Kíli’s mouth, “And then I gather the others.” Another kiss. “This won’t end unless we end it.” He stared into the depths of everything Kíli was, bearing his soul for Kíli so there would be no misunderstanding. And yet, Kíli wasn't willing to agree with what went unsaid.

Kíli closed the ribbon of distance between them, lips and tongue and teeth making vows and promises Kíli _demanded_ Fíli to accept.

“You won’t leave me behind.” Kíli said, resolute. “Together or not at all.”

Fíli considered him for a moment, eyes searching, and then, like the sun after a storm, he smiled.

“Together.”

≡


	27. It's A Condition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, M
> 
> AU - Modern Setting, Durincest, Mild Sexual Content, Humor, Dís Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [LegolasLovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegolasLovely/gifts)
> 
> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _18\. Fumbling, tickly, giggly sex_

≡

She threw on a look that said, _obviously!_ before patting his cheek and pressing her forehead to his, smiling tenderly. Their father’s hand found her waist and he leaned in to whisper that they were running late, that their uncle and his boyfriend were already waiting in the car. She nodded and stepped back, grabbing both Kíli and Fíli’s hands as they stood in the vestibule to see their parents off.

It was the eve of their parents’ annual Christmas party. _Adults only_.

Every year their mother and father would dress up finely and leave their sons home, usually to mind their cousins Gimli and Ori who were absent that year. They’d practically shoot out the door with two bottles of wine each, shoulders squared and expressions set in the sort of scary determination adults get when they know they have the opportunity to leave their responsibilities behind for an entire night and get completely, unabashedly _sloshed_.

Kíli used to whine and complain that he didn’t get to join them. This year however, he was eager to shove his parents out of the house. He and Fíli had plans, after all, that had been in the works since _June_. Fíli was finally home for the first time since starting Uni and Kíli was ready to have his brother all to himself. So far, their mother had selfishly kept Fíli occupied since he’d walked through the door, pulling stories out of him like teeth and having him help with all the household tasks it seemed she’d saved for _him_ , _specifically_ (despite Kíli being perfectly able. It was as if she’d hoarded them to keep Fíli and Kíli from having the chance to spend any time together, alone, until then).

“We’ve got to get going, babe, come on.” Their father said, his smooth baritone melting over them like mulled wine. Their mother sighed and released her sons’ hands.

Her gaze ricocheted between them, hard under neatly arched brows, “Alright you two,” She said, “No trouble.” Their father grabbed her around her slim shoulders, but she wasn’t finished, casting rules over their father’s massive paw. “No—just don’t – ” Fíli and Kíli frowned, “Just— _be safe, for Chrissakes_!” She was halfway down the walkway that winded to the drive when she said her final piece and was folded into the driver’s seat with their father’s encouragement.

“Don’t worry mum!” Fíli laughed, tucked partway behind Kíli. A sneaky hand found its way into Kíli’s back pocket and pinched the sensitive flesh of Kíli’s arse. Kíli swallowed, his eyes wide. He managed to maintain an innocent enough face as he waved.

The car started and they saw their uncle and his boyfriend gesture their farewells through the back-left window. Their father gave a short salute and their mother’s arm reached right across their father’s chest to dance her fingers at them. And then, blessedly, they were down the street and disappeared around the corner.

Fíli practically threw Kíli inside, shutting the door with his foot. He pounced, hauling Kíli to his chest with a tight grip around Kíli’s waist. Those hands soon wandered, eased down Kíli’s sides to slide over the curve of his tailbone to the firm muscle of his pert arse. Fíli leaned in, bumping the tip of his nose against Kíli’s, a Cheshire grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He licked Kíli’s bottom lip with the point of his tongue before at last claiming Kíli’s mouth. Kíli moaned into the moist heat of his brother’s mouth, pressing as close as he could get to Fíli where they stood in the area between the vestibule and the stairs.

Wrenching himself away on a whimper of self-acquired disappointment, Fíli fisted the hem of Kíli’s shirt and bunched the fabric up under Kíli’s arms. Kíli took the hint and pulled his shirt over his head, launching it in the direction of the kitchen entrance without concern. They had plenty of time to tidy up later. _Much_ later.

Fíli drew Kíli into another kiss as soon as Kíli discarded his shirt. In a show of strength that drove Kíli wild, Fíli seized the backs of Kíli’s thighs and hoisted him up, coaxing Kíli to wrap his legs around Fíli’s waist. Fíli tripped sideways, accidentally slamming Kíli’s back against the hallway wall, causing their teeth to chatter together and the back of Kíli’s head to hit the plaster hard enough to sting.

“ _Ow-how-how_!!” Kíli winced, brought a hand up and felt around the sore spot. “ _Gentle_.” He admonished through a chuckle. Fíli’s enthusiasm was as sexy as it was endearing.

“Sorry.” Fíli replaced Kíli’s hand with his own. “Got carried away.” He pressed chaste, apologetic kisses along Kíli’s jaw and across Kíli’s tender lips. “Are you alright?”

Flirty, honest, Kíli said, “I’ll be even better when we get upstairs.”

Fíli let Kíli’s feet drop to the floor and steadied him as he found his balance. They took a moment to look at each other, to absorb that _this was really happening_ , then hurried up the stairs to Kíli’s room at the end of the hall. The instant they had the door closed, Fíli pushed Kíli onto the bed where Kíli bounced, releasing a buoyant laugh from somewhere bright and wonderful within him. Fíli stripped himself of his own shirt and dove after him.

≈

The drive was peaceful until they reached the intersection before the turnoff to the highway. Dís was quiet with her thoughts. Beside her, Vali fiddled with the radio to find the holiday station, wanting to set the mood. In the backseat, Thorin was watching Bilbo fuss and shift, pat his pockets down once, twice and then go still. Bilbo turned to Thorin, Dís saw in the rearview mirror, and said, “I think I’ve forgotten my wallet.”

_Damn_.

Dís pretended not to hear, eyes front and fixed on the road. Vali stiffened beside her, his pointer finger hovering above the list of stations.

“Dís,” Thorin said, as she assumed he would, “We need to turn around, Bilbo’s forgotten his wallet.”

“Mm-hm.” Dís didn’t make any move to change direction.

Bilbo leaned over the console between the seats, peeking shyly at Dís. “Sorry, if we could just go ba—”

“You won’t need it,” Dís blurted, tone conspicuously too high. She cleared her throat and tried to cover up the oddness with what came out as a semi-deranged chortle, “It’ll still be there when we get back.”

“I know,” Bilbo said, “I would be more comfortable if I had it, though.”

“It’s _fine_.” Dís flapped a hand. Vali pressed back into his seat, radio abandoned, and adamantly stared at the line of identical suburban houses they passed, idly commenting on the decorations he caught glimpses of.

Baffled by his sister’s behavior, Thorin frowned aggressively from his seat. “Dís, what the hell is your problem? Go back!”

Dís met his request with a very shrill, “Hm?”

She knew she wouldn’t be allowed to get away with ignoring the problem however, and eventually sagged when Bilbo uttered a soft, though obviously confused, _please_. Turning when she could, she drove them back to the house, her suggestions of going in and retrieving it herself shot down as soon as they met Thorin and Bilbo’s ears.

Once they parked, Dís practically launched herself from the car to the front door and made a point of ringing the doorbell before Bilbo even set a foot on the walkway. She didn’t care that she could feel how disturbed Bilbo was, observing the concentrated amount of _fucking batshit_ she was exhibiting after three days of being pleasantly normal.

She turned the door handle, _what the hell, not even locked!_ Discussions of Stranger Danger fluttered through her mind as Dís barrelled inside, announcing her presence and that of her brother’s well-mannered boyfriend from the base of the stairs. “SO, YOU’LL JUST BE GOING _UPSTAIRS_ , THEN.”

Bilbo’s expression was quickly transforming into the kind of thing people see from loved ones before they’re wrapped and buckled in straightjackets. Well, in for a penny…

“I won’t take a second.” Bilbo said, an added layer of calm to his tone as if afraid to rock the Crazy Boat Dís was currently sailing. Dís nodded curtly and resigned her gaze to her feet.

Vali appeared a moment later, joining Dís where she stood in the entrance to the kitchen. She leaned her head on his massive shoulder and scrubbed a hand down her face. This was entirely too much for her nerves to handle.

Something caught her eye on the ground beside Vali’s foot; her eyes widened, and she gulped with an audible click, her breath leaving her lungs in a _whoosh_. Bilbo’s footsteps were heard making their way back from the guestroom to the stairs. As Dís was about to make a blundering swan dive for it, Vali – the hero – kicked the rumpled shirt father into the kitchen and out of sight without so much as glancing away from where he watched Bilbo descend. 

“All good then?” Vali asked casually.

“I GUESS WE SHOULD LEAVE Now. that. you’ve got what you came for … ” Dís’ voice tapered to its regular pitch, and lower still in embarrassment, when Bilbo took the last few steps.

He cocked his head, puppylike, and inquired, “Is everything alright?”

Dís stuttered through her answer, “Yes, yeah, I’m—I have a … condition.” She tittered nervously, “Can’t always control the volume of my voice.”

Vali raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Oh. That must be a strain.” Bilbo was dearly sympathetic. “It doesn’t always happen, though? I mean, this is the first time – ”

“Yes,” Dís interrupted, herding Bilbo out the door, “It. Comes and goes.” Once Bilbo made his way to the car, Dís turned to Vali and sighed. The slight bend of his lips and the flash of dimples was a testament to his amusement. “Shut up.” She warned but there was no heat behind it.

≈

Fíli was vibrating where he lay over the length of Kíli’s body, his face shoved into Kíli’s neck where he’d hidden himself when they’d heard the chime of the doorbell ring through the house. He was trying, without much success, not to burst out roaring before they heard their uncle’s boyfriend’s footsteps retreat down the stairs.

“ _Shh_ ,” Kíli lightly smacked Fíli’s shoulder, himself shaking with barely restrained laughter.

They both forced themselves silent until they heard the front door close and the car reverse out of the driveway. Once Fíli was certain they were alone, he lifted his eyes and witnessed Kíli surrender to a fit of giggles, the adrenaline of almost getting caught still pulsing through his veins.

“Jesus, Fee, I almost had a heart attack!” He said but Fíli only smiled down at him.

Kíli’s eyes softened at the gentle way Fíli was looking at him, as if he had all the love in the world bundled up and ready to give Kíli. It was a heady feeling and made Kíli dizzy, but he couldn’t imagine wanting to receive that look from anyone else.

Repositioning himself on his knees between Kíli’s spread legs, Fíli returned to his task. Kíli’s erection hadn’t flagged entirely in the time it took for Bilbo do whatever he’d had to do and _leave_. Although, admittedly, Fíli wouldn’t have minded starting from square one and letting Kíli’s arousal build slowly until he was reduced to a mess, weeping for release.

With feathersoft fingers, Fíli trailed his touch from the inside of Kíli’s knees to his inner thighs, bending forward to smack wet, open-mouthed kisses across Kíli’s hip, swirl his tongue around Kíli’s bellybutton, taste the dried sweat-salt on Kíli’s skin—

Kíli was shaking much too hard for those to be _quivers of arousal_. 

“Fee! _Baha_!” Kíli squealed, his body trembling and squirming. “That tickles, _heeeeee_ , more than it turns me o-on! Oh my God, _sto-hop_!” Kíli barked, heaving air into his lungs when Fíli relented. Fíli shook with his own laughter as he registered Kíli’s reaction to something he was sure would be a sensual experience. So much for that tactic.

Resting forward, Fíli stamped his fondness and love into the divots of Kíli’s thighs and groin with soft presses of his lips. He offered Kíli as much time as he needed to calm. That calm was short-lived however, hastily morphed into arousal the instant Fíli’s mouth parted and his tongue licked a hot stripe from the root to the wet tip of Kíli’s cock.

“Better?” Fíli asked, eyes glittering up at Kíli who made a gesture that screamed for Fíli to _get the hell on with it, please and thank you_! Despite wanting to take his time with Kíli, Fíli found he wanted to wipe that bossiness from his brother’s face more and make Kíli _beg_. “You asked for it, baby.”

“Wha— _Fuuuck_!” Kíli choked and fell back on his pillow, arching beautifully upward as Fíli swallowed Kíli whole.

≈

When Dís and Vali finally arrived home, Bilbo and Thorin left behind because the effort of feigning a condition had become too much for Dís to maintain for another minute, the boys were nestled comfortably on either end of the couch in the den, blanket thrown over them and popcorn balanced in the middle.

“Hey mu—!”

“Naff off.”

Dís couldn’t even spare them the attention she normally bestowed them whenever they were near, choosing to duck into the kitchen and grab the bottle of half-drunk whiskey her cousin Glóin had brought over on Halloween.

“Is she alright?” Fíli asked Vali, slight concern heavy over eyes so much like Dís’ own.

Vali smirked, “It’s just your mother’s condition was acting up tonight...”

“What condition!?” Kíli yelped at the same time as Fíli said, “Why, how!?”

Vali turned to Fíli since Fíli’s question seemed a tremendous amount more fun to answer, “Because she—”

“Because I bloody love you!” Dís yelled as she stomped up the stairs to her and Vali’s bedroom, the sound of the door slamming punctuating her point.

Unable to contain his mirth, Vali threw his head back and laughed richly, following his wife’s example and retiring after a long night.

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this takes place in the same 'verse as[Fingerprints](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653445/chapters/53991409) and [Now You See Me, Now You're Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608889)_  
> 


	28. Before & After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, (personal imaginings of) Fae, Marriage Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _5\. Character A has been planning on proposing for a long time (everything has to be PERFECT) and then proposes to character B in a spur of a moment while doing something mundane like eating pizza or playing video games or something_

The tendrils of their mists had always been intertwind, from birth and into forever. It was perhaps this that had prompted Fíli to do what he did.

Kíli remained faced forward, the slice of pizza limp and hanging from his mouth while his hands clutched the controller he’d been beating furiously with his thumbs for the past twenty minutes. Eyes that had been flickering madly across the screen, watching his character bounce through the level, had gone still; his shoulders tensed, his fingers stopped mid-combo, _was he even breathing_ —

Fíli swallowed thickly, lips tingling from the heat of the question that resonated between them. He didn’t regret it, didn’t want to take it back – had no reason to – and was pretty certain Kíli felt the same. Except that Kíli wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking, wasn’t _looking at him_ so, really, Fíli had no clue what Kíli was feeling. And yet, he did. Because Fíli was confident (he repeated to himself like a mantra) that they were Ride or Die, in this life and the next and the one after that – no matter which Court they’d be born into – _together_.

No, it hadn’t gone down as Fíli had planned. At all. Not even remotely close. There were expensive flowers and bottles and favors waiting to impress Kíli on Wednesday. Fíli had listened every time Kíli so much as _hinted_ toward what he’d like, what he’d wish for. Fíli would then make mental notes of _everything_ because Kíli was everything to Fíli and Fíli wanted to make sure Kíli harbored no doubts whatsoever about that fact.

Fíli remembered, years ago, when Kíli had detailed his fantasies, both as the proposer and as the proposed-to. It had been the same conversation in which Fíli had made it brutally clear to everyone present that he had no interest nor desire for marriage or a union that meant _always in my heart_.

In his defense, Fíli had been young and troubled.

Regardless, that was Before.

Before the ember of realization sparked behind Kíli’s oak-warm eyes. Before, when Fíli sacrificed an important piece of himself – a shard of his youth – to try and force his mind in an appropriate direction. That had been his biggest mistake, a violation of his own doing between the wrong thighs, against the wrong body.

It was before Fíli learned about the importance and reverence of one’s _mist_ and _breed_ over blood. When he learned their mother and father had been pushed from the same womb as well. That revelation had left Fíli reeling for weeks after (how had he never connected those dots when it was so obvious?). Once he’d had time to process that truth, Fíli had embraced it and embraced what it meant: He could love freely and openly and without shame.

Amongst their own, of course.

Those of ornery blood wouldn’t see it the same way, their history riddled with evidence that incest ruined the bodies and minds of those who came after. They wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t accept, would condemn. It was their damn social norms, shoved down Fíli’s throat in school and on the playground, that had caused all his strife in the first place …

But all of that was _before_.

Before Kíli kissed him; lay his silken lips over Fíli’s and ended the war Fíli had raged within himself between uncertainty and confusion and mistrust. Before Kíli had nudged the seam of Fíli’s lips with the tip of his tongue, urging Fíli to let him in and _devour_. Kíli hadn’t left any room for doubt, pulling Fíli into another toe-curling kiss as soon as they’d ended the first. And Kíli continued to kiss Fíli like that, like there was never anyone else _ever_ and never would be because they _complete-fit-belong_ as one.

Fíli’s salamander mist curled around and within that of Kíli’s selkie’s.

But it was Sunday not Wednesday and Fíli had gone and screwed up. After all the conversations, the dreams detailed quietly in the dark, the damn Pinterest board that Fíli “didn’t know about”, Fíli had jumped through hoops to get it perfectly right. For it to be all Kíli wanted and more. Kíli deserved the sun and stars and moon and beyond. But Kíli had gone and been _Kíli_ , just existing in Fíli’s space with a mouthful of pizza, careful not to drip any sauce on Fíli’s hoodie which Kíli was wearing since, _Why do you like living in a refrigerator, Fee? Hm?_

And so, Fíli, in the span of a single question, had _screwed. up_.

A low, “Yes.” cut through Fíli’s spiralling thoughts causing him to snap his head up and stare, dumbstruck and in disbelief.

Fíli blinked several times, scanning the seriousness on Kíli’s face when Kíli finally looked at him, smile soft and barely-there. His eyes, however, were ablaze with joy and love and all that danced in between, illuminated unnaturally by the mist he was trying to tamper before he ended up flopping on the floor in the skin of a seal.

“What?” Was all Fíli could manage, not sure if he’d heard correctly.

A sudden lapful of vibrating Kíli, legs folded on either side of Fíli’s thighs and hands already grabbing and tugging at the hem of Fíli’s shirt, told Fíli what he thought he’d heard. Kíli repeated anyway:

“I said _yes_!” Kíli laughed, buoyant, leaning back to look Fíli in the eye. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

Fíli lost his breath, the air knocked out of him by a tremendous feeling of relief-mixed-elation. “Really?” He croaked.

Kíli gentled, gaze softening as he took in the genuine shock in Fíli’s voice. He bumped Fíli’s nose with his own and rested their brows together, reassuring, “There’s no one else, Fee. Not for me.”

And within the stretch of a single, beautiful, wild kiss, Fíli began to imagine After. After he and Kíli told their parents who would laugh and cry and celebrate with too much drink. After he and Kíli were handfasted before a gathering of family and their friends in the know, when they’d dance and sing off-tune 80s jams and strip each other bare before even making it halfway to their hotel suite from the limo.

After, when they’d belong to each other in all the ways they could, forever.


	29. Midnight Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [PatchworkIdeas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkIdeas/gifts)
> 
> **within the same 'verse as the previous chapter**

≡

Kíli has odd habits. Well, Fíli supposes that if you were to ask their ornery friends, they _all_ have odd habits. Fae mists come with symptoms of oddness and, when a child was baptized with theirs, they were warned of what carrying a Fae soul entailed.

Baking cookies in the latest part of the night is _not_ on either Court’s list of " _What Makes You Fae_ ". That, Fíli knows, is simply and entirely a Kíli thing.

When Kíli was very small - before discussions of _special blood_ , before their mother revealed what it meant to be a member of the Durin flush and before they were presented to an assembly of both Courts for their mist rites – he would rise in the middle of the night and wander to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge and cupboards.

Some family members believed it was because Kíli never ate enough at suppertime, picky as the rascal was, but that theory proved false when Kíli matured into adolescence and began to put away food like a shrew. Hollow legs, full heart, their mother laughed. Kíli’s late-night snacks became more elaborate around that time as well; he tried his hand at his mother’s recipes, soon outgrowing her modest collection and exploring Pinterest for 2am Bakewell tarts and 3am clotted creams. 

Admittedly, by that age, Fíli had stopped paying attention to his brother’s habits. They were separated by enough years that Fíli experienced everything well in advance and had little time to devote to anyone so vastly below his realm of maturity. So, the root of Kíli’s kitchen shenanigans remained a mystery until Fíli asked Kíli to move in with him.

The first time it happened, a week after Kíli’s last box was unpacked, Fíli didn’t recall Kíli’s boyhood strangeness and merely thought his brother was sleep walking. Fíli stumbled far enough into the kitchen to assess Kíli’s wellbeing, eyes squinted closed against the assaulting glare of the fluorescent light, and that was it. Kíli responded, voice clear of sleep, and Fíli returned to bed until he had to wake up the following morning for work.

And, boy, did Fíli ever encounter the most glorious of ways of rousing on a groggy, grey Monday ( ~~and wherever your naughty mind may have gone, it wasn’t that!~~ ). Tinkling pans and glassware replaced his alarms, the sweet-warm aroma of cinnamon curled into his nose while his head was still crushed comfortably in his pillow, pale gold sunlight nudged his eyelids open …

It made all the difference to wake gradually, at an easy pace, and not to the shrill cry of cardiac arrest that he’d grown miserably accustomed to in his first months of college. When he stepped into the kitchen, arms stretched above his head and loosing a long, satisfied groan into the room, he was greeted by a sight that he assumed only existed in fantasy:

Stacks of buttery pancakes, bowls of sugared fruit, steamy syrup, dollops of homemade cream and on and on! Eggs, toast, unlabeled jars of preserves that Fíli hadn’t seen in the pantry before ( _could Selkies manipulate time?_ He wondered, his brain still cotton-soft with sleep, _did Selkies often manipulate time to make jam? Is **that** where those unassuming jam jars that one N E V E R buys but always has in the door of the fridge or the back of the cupboard come from?_ Fíli needed to sit down and stop thinking).

When Fíli’s eyes found Kíli, Kíli looked so small and uncertain leaned against the counter by the sink, shoulders curled and arms loosely cradled around his middle, glancing everywhichway but where Fíli had plopped himself at the heavily laden table. Fíli feared briefly that the whole thing would collapse under the weight of Kíli’s cooking.

Behind Kíli, the counters were spotless, the dishes stacked neatly to dry in the draining rack, and all the ingredients he must’ve used were put by. In fact, there was no evidence whatsoever that Kíli had anything to do with the breakfast spread; perhaps it had simply manifested in the wee hours of the morning and Kíli had been there to set it like a picture from one of his many gastronomy magazines.

“Uh—?” Fíli started dumbly, throat clicking as it tried to work through its morning parch. He was confused and unexpectedly excited.

“It’s too much, I know, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll replace everything I used, which wasn’t as much as it seems, really, even though you might not believe me. You can make quite a lot from so little, it’s rather astonishing! I made whole pies once using—”

Kíli’s nervous babble ceased the moment his face was smooshed into the crook of Fíli’s neck. Having stood and padded into Kíli’s space, Fíli wrapped as much of himself around Kíli as he could, hard swells of muscle caging Kíli in what Fíli hoped was a feeling of safety and acceptance.

“It’s wonderful, Kee.” Fíli pressed a crown of chaste kisses across the top of Kíli’s bed-mussed hair. He hesitated a moment, mind flicking through a rolodex of reasons behind Kíli’s culinary escapade, brain still sleep-dumb when he asked “Is it my birthday? Surely, it’s not yours and you made your own breakfast! It is a holiday? Do we celebrate bank holidays with pancakes?”

Deflating in relief and newly giddy, Kíli laughed, whole and from his diaphragm. The sound filled the kitchen with a brightness Fíli felt against his skin.

“Sometimes, especially at night, my mind just … starts whirling?” Kíli tried to explain. “And no matter how many sheep I count, I can’t turn it off. I’d blame my Selkie except that it’s been happening since I was a child, you know?”

Fíli nodded as if he did know, though his mind, only a smidgen more awake than it had been seconds before, was still trying to absorb anything past the echo of Kíli’s laughter.

“The energy gets to be so much that I need to _do something_ , find an outlet. Cooking … it—there’s something about it that calms me down, I guess.” Kíli shrugged and lifted his head from Fíli’s shoulder, pulling away slightly to look Fíli in the eye. “Is it too much?” He asked again.

Fíli thought about it, tossing a look behind him at the table and the impossible amount of food causing its legs to creak in complaint.

“Well,” Fíli said, “As much as I want to think we could, I don’t think we’ll be able to eat all of this on our own before it goes bad.”

Kíli sighed forlornly. “No, probably not.”

“ _Buuut_ , we could pack some up and take it to mum? If we get some of those takeout boxes from the pound shop, maybe we could even give some to those who need it? I’m sure the shelter near work would welcome the extra food.”

Kíli’s whole face brightened considerably and Fíli felt like he’d won the sun. “Really?”

“Really.”

Every morning after that, Fíli woke to a kitchen cluttered with boxes bursting with the results of Kíli’s midnight cooking marathon. Timers pinged all over the place, pots bubbled, and trays were removed and replaced in the oven. It reminded Fíli of the short time he’d spent as a kitchen porter at a restaurant; all the chaos of a lunch rush without the pressure of the patrons on Kíli’s back.

After receiving Fíli’s blessing, Kíli seemed more relaxed, more able to lift his chin and smile into his eyes. Fíli hadn’t had the opportunity to understand how much his brother needed that time in the kitchen and his heart twinged with guilt for not having known – for not having _remembered_ – that it was a part of Kíli’s routine. Just like watching WWE on Friday nights and going to Ori’s bookshop every other Sunday to watch the live music.

It’s odd, Fíli supposes, but no odder than having a Selkie mist that makes Kíli turn into a seal whenever his base emotions are piqued. Hah, Fíli recalls their argument last week about who erased Kíli’s recordings of _The Durells in Corfu_ when, _poof!_ , Kíli was bouncing around on his rotund, leathery belly, glaring threats up at Fíli from the floor.

Now, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Fíli is cuddled on the hard floor in the corner of the kitchen, wearing a knitted blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape, glasses slipped down to the middle of his nose while he reads the eight chapter of his newest book. Kíli is a blur of motion around him, darting this way and that as he pulls ingredients from the pantry and leaves them on the counter by the automatic mixer. His bare feet squeak against the tile when he moves too quick and his chest expands and contracts like a foxtrot beat from all the exertion.

Fíli’s told him more than once that he doesn’t have a deadline. Kíli’s always side-eyed him and shaken his head like Fíli is the densest person on the planet. “It’s not about a deadline, dummy,” He stresses.

“What’re you making tonight?” Fíli’s curiosity gets the better of him when he peeks a glimpse of pecans and oats.

“Cookies.” Kíli says, focused on his measurements. “And,” He continues, “If you’re especially nice and read to me, I’ll maybe consider making those chocolate chip ones you like so much.”

Fíli immediately launches into the next chapter, making sure to do the voices and the sound effects that keep Kíli’s buzzing mind entertained but not distracted from his task.

Yes, Kíli has odd habits – well, just the one, really – but Fíli can’t complain. After all, Kíli’s odd habits come with sweet smells and warm rooms and treats that leave Fíli delirious.

Plus, it inspired Fíli to renew his gym membership, so it’s all beneficial, really.

 _Really_. 

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally intended to be submitted for the [Secret Admirers](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SecretAdmirers2020) event. since i went in an entirely different direction with my gifties, this was doomed to float aimlessly on my computer until the end of time. i love it enough that i couldn't let that happen so, there you have it!
> 
> i just wanted to share something sweet, soft and cozy. completely inspired by baking my own batch of cookies at 4:30am 😅 and, for some reason, the lads really wanted to exist in this weird little world again so ... * _helpless shrug_ * the lads get what the lads want.


	30. The Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IoLuke, G
> 
> Alternate Universe, Not Canon Compliant, Miscast Spells, (it's all Clary's fault), (but she's a babe so Luke can't blame her)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [Lakritzwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/gifts).
> 
> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _33\. Time Travel_

≡

Luke wasn’t sure if this was his most brilliant or his dumbest idea to date. He examined his charge, dressed in clothes from the bargain bin at Target; slim-fit jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a basic zip-front hoodie and knock-off chucks. From the outside, the boy looked like a regular New Yorker. If anyone tried speaking to him, Luke could always shoo them away with the old _he’s a tourist_ spiel.

The boy smiled nicely back at him, not a hint of trepidation as Luke escorted him from the Institute, where the boy had been confined to since his unexpected arrival, and to Luke’s truck.

Of all the stupid things Clary could’ve done, using a summoning spell – and mucking it up _terribly_ – so close to the Portal was, by far, the stupidest. It seemed a lot of stupid things were happening lately, Luke surmised, guiding the boy with a hand on the boy’s back.

So far, they’d managed to keep him a secret from The Clave and anyone else who would want punish Clary harshly for her carelessness before banishing the boy back to wherever he was from. Which remained a mystery. One Luke should’ve been able to solve but for the fact that whenever the boy spoke, a translation was spoken directly into Luke’s head, prodding behind his eyes like the beginnings of a migraine. It was getting easier to manage the more time Luke spent with him.

Eventually, when the throb of knuckles digging into his skull subsided permanently, perhaps the boy would be willing to give Luke his name.

They drove in silence to Luke’s apartment where the boy would be staying until Luke and the others figured out a solution without The Clave discovering Clary’s mistake. Luke loved Clary, so much, but sometimes she could be brash and not think things through as carefully as the task at hand required. Magic was sensitive and, oftentimes, it needed a sensitive hand to command it.

Jocelyn would be furious if she ever discovered her daughter had pulled someone _out of time_. And she’d, without hesitation, stop Luke’s heart if his part in covering it up was ever brought to light. Luke swallowed, blinking several times in an effort to erase those thoughts like a design on an Etch A Sketch.

“ _So, I’m staying with you?_ ” The boy asked, twisting in his seat to face Luke with his whole body, having ignored Luke’s explanation of how a seatbelt worked and why it was necessary. Partly for safety, mostly for Luke to avoid getting another demerit on his licence.

“Yeah.” Luke confirmed, eyeing the boy from his periphery. “Could you … the seatbelt, please?” He gruffed, gesturing.

The boy looked confused for a second before barking out a laugh. “ _Nah, it looks uncomfortable. I’ve been confined enough, thanks_.”

Somehow that worked to make Luke feel guilty enough to let the issue drop. He’d just have to be _extra_ careful.

“ _Seriously._ ” The boy continued, “ _Thank you for—_ ” He waved a hand, motioning around and between them, “ _Everything_.” The pressure of translation was starting to spot Luke’s vision. Luke nodded in response and pointed to his temple, alerting the boy that his words were starting to ache. “ _Sorry_.” He said and reluctantly slipped back into silence, shifting so his head was leaned against the window to watch the scenery drift by.

It was odd, Luke mused, that a time traveler from some distant past didn’t seem at all interested in where he’d ended up, his gaze slipping back to Luke’s profile without subtlety.

They arrived a few minutes after the threat of a headache subsided. Luke ushered the boy to follow him into the storefront of his shop, bypassing cases and shelves the boy was clearly eager to inspect. He lingered behind until Luke marched back to him and grabbed him gently yet firmly by the bicep, guiding him to the back of the store to the staircase that led to Luke’s modest apartment above.

“Tomorrow, alright?” Luke compromised, “Today we have to organize a place for you to sleep. My apartment isn’t exactly large enough to host … _anyone_ , actually. I barely fit in it myself.”

It became quite clear why when Luke held the door open and the boy stepped through. There was clutter everywhere; teetering piles of books and scrolls, trinkets and carvings and all manner of possibly magical items strewn about. There was a threadbare couch in the middle of the main space covered in loose papers and the kitchen was a bit of a mess under a collection of clean and used pots and pans and plastic containers.

“ _You’d get more guests if you cleaned up_.” The boy said bluntly and whirled around to look at Luke with a cheeky grin. He lifted and dropped one shoulder, “ _Just saying_.”

Luke settled his best scowl on him, “I wasn’t planning on having even one.” 

“ _Hm, too bad for you then, huh_?”

The boy didn’t sound remorseful in the slightest.

Ξ

Three days later and the apartment was tidy. The boy had insisted he sleep beside Luke in the tight space of Luke’s double bed on the first night, underscoring that there was nowhere else until all the damn scripture was put away. Luke begrudgingly agreed.

On the second day, Luke purchased too many Duo-Tangs and accordion folders and sat on the worn-thin carpet to help the boy organize and file all the loose sheets. Day three saw the re-emergence of Luke’s hardwood floor. All the books had been squeezed into corners in neat piles, under the coffee table and on either side of the couch like makeshift end tables; the boy put two of Luke’s lamps on the piles as if to make a point. He was so impressed with himself that Luke didn’t have the heart to remove them.

For the first time in a long time, Luke’s apartment looked less like a storage unit for a mad professor and more like a home.

“ _Doesn’t that feel better?_ ”

“Yeah,” Luke agreed, wrapping a friendly arm around the boy’s shoulders and pressing him close, a sense of relief and happiness overcoming him as he scanned the space. “Thanks – ”

The boy turned his head and gazed up at Luke, their faces too close and his breath hitting Luke’s chin in warm, moist puffs. He shone at Luke, dimples appearing on either side of his smile and pit-pattering Luke’s heart faster than Luke would ever admit.

“ _Iolaus_.” The boy said. “ _Nice to meet you_.”

Luke looked around before his eyes found Iolaus' again, "I don't suppose you'll want to sleep on the couch, now there's room?"

" _Not a chance_."

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i completely ignored so many things about the universe of Mortal Instruments because i wanted this to happen XD so any diehards will likely wanna see to my demise. i'm not sorry * _sticks out tongue_ *


End file.
